


The Prince and the Nightingale

by Melusine6619



Series: Nightingale Series [1]
Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Coming of Age, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-27
Updated: 2012-05-28
Packaged: 2017-11-04 10:25:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melusine6619/pseuds/Melusine6619
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was the daughter of his father's captain, the girl he's known all her life, but now that she's grown up can he stop seeing her as a child and accept what's meant to be.  A 2nd place recipient in the 2011 Middle-earth Fanfiction Awards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Innocent Proposal

The summer day was a quiet one in the great northern forest that had once been known as Greenwood. Yet there was a tremor of excitement in the air. The trees rustled with it, and the birds chirped gladly where they were perched in their nests in the branches. From the ground below, murmurs rose to meet them. One of these belonged to an Elfling, who stood with her mother alongside the other families gathered at the end of the trail where it came to a stop at the edge of the clearing. The young one curled her bare toes in the springy grass, and then, because it was so very hard to stand still when anticipating anything, she began to bounce back and forth on the balls of her feet. 

“Will they be here soon, Nana?” 

“Yes, dear. Soon. Now stop jumping around. You’ll dirty your dress.” 

Dulinneth halted mid-hop and glanced up at her mother before peering anxiously through the tall trees that stretched upward toward the sky. They stood like sentinels as far as she could see along the faint path that led towards the south. The ones farthest away, however, were dipped in shadow, and to the nine year old they looked like the largest of Orcs, and she shivered, even though it was daylight. 

She was afraid of Orcs. In the stillness of night when the tree branches scraped against her bedroom walls, she would hide beneath her blankets until she remembered they were trees and not evil creatures seeking to fill their bellies with her flesh, as the older children in the settlement whispered they did when they thought the younger ones were not around, or even sometimes when they knew they were.

But Dulinneth knew they were safe here in the northern stretches of Mirkwood, in King Thranduil’s domain, thanks to the tall warriors who guarded the borders. Warriors like her father, who was coming home today. 

She looked up at her dark-haired mother and tilted her head to the side, her brow furrowing. She pulled on her mother’s hand until warm blue eyes met her own. “How do you know?” 

“I feel it inside, through the connection that your father and I share. And the woods tell me also,” Galuves answered. “You will see your ada very soon.” 

Dulinneth nodded, but she did not understand, not truly. Perhaps it was some secret grown-up knowledge and she would know the same things one day. For now all she knew was that when her father was away her mother often went very still and seemed to be listening to something only she could hear. 

“I wish they were here now.” She stood up on tiptoe in an effort to see more, but everyone was so tall. 

“You must be patient.” 

But Dulinneth did not want to be patient and wait; she wanted to go and watch for her father. She backed up slowly until she thought she must be out of her mother’s vision and then turned and began to run, the folds of her blue skirts gathered above her knees. 

There was a beech she knew of, some distance further on from where the others were gathered. She heard Galuves calling to her to come back, but she pretended not to hear as she made her way to it. 

She stood, panting, at the base of the tree. It was tall enough to watch and wait from, but the lowest branches were just within her reach. She stood on tiptoe and caught the first one and hauled herself up. The bark dug into her hands and legs, and she felt her dress rip as she moved slowly upward. How she wished she could wear leggings. Climbing would be so much easier then. 

At last she reached a branch that hung over the path they would come by, her legs dangling beneath. She was excited not only to see her ada, of course, but he rode with the prince, and that meant seeing him as well. She liked Prince Legolas, for he was always kind to her. 

From below and to her left she heard the sound of horses and the low murmur of male voices. Her heart thrummed quickly, and she thought, perhaps, she could move a little more directly over the road for an even better look. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“A good patrol, I think, my Lord.”

Legolas glanced over at Belegur, his father’s friend and senior captain and then back at the line of warriors following behind. One or two of the newer recruits had bandaged limbs, and the prince frowned in concern. “You don’t think some need more training?”

“They’re young and raw. More experience in the field is what they need,” Belegur said. He looked back at the men as well. “And more training, aye. We’ll take care of that.”  
They rode on, the king’s captain and the prince discussing what new techniques might be useful to add to their regimen. They were just talking of more hand to hand combat when abruptly, Legolas straightened on his horse, his sharp eyes catching a flash of blue among the branches of a tree ahead where it dipped low over the road. 

There were no birds in the forest of that color. It could only be a person, most likely one who should not be there--a child. Swearing, Legolas dug his heels into Suldal’s flanks, urging her into a gallop. Later he would not be able to recall how he had reached her in time, but she had only just lost her balance when he was below her. He caught her, his hands shaking as much as the child was, and held her close.

“Shh, ‘tis all right. You’re safe now,” Legolas murmured, rubbing her back.

A small voice came from the face pressed into his tunic. “Legolas?” 

“Dulinneth?” Legolas asked, pushing her from him slightly. Large moss green eyes peered back at him from a pale face, and he felt his own lose even more color. “Ai, Valar, haven’t you been told not to climb so high?” 

“It wasn’t very high at all,” she contradicted, shaking her head. “Not really.” 

“What in Arda? Dulinneth?” 

They both looked to find Belegur had caught up with them. The blond captain’s braids bounced one last time as he settled his horse into a walk beside them. Dulinneth took one look at his narrowed green eyes, darker than her own, before burying her head against Legolas’ chest once again. Her father was angry; he would scold her as well, she knew.  
“She fell, lost her balance, I think. She’s unharmed,” Legolas explained, trying to keep his voice casual about the near accident. He felt far from it, however. His heartbeat still hadn’t slowed and he kept picturing her hitting the ground. It was true she had not been very high above the road--for an adult. 

“Thank the Valar you saw her.” 

“Thank them I caught her.” He looked down at the child where she was still holding onto his shirt front. She had scratches on her arms, her light brown hair was tangled, and her dress was torn in places, but perhaps that was from her climb up the tree. He released another breath. 

“Dulinneth, come over here. Let the prince ride alone,” Belegur said, nudging his horse closer.

“Please, Ada, may I ride with Legolas?”

“ ‘Tis all right. I do not mind,” Legolas told him.

Belegur nodded. “Very well. You may ride with the prince, but mind your manners.”

“Yes, Ada. Thank you.” 

Dulinneth waited as the prince helped her settle comfortably in front of him on Suldal’s back, before catching a bundle of the mare’s mane in her hands. A soft, dreamy smile grew on her face as she rode. She knew that she would likely be punished for being disobedient and climbing where she was not supposed to, alone, but for right now it mattered not--she was with her prince, and all was right with her world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night had turned slightly cooler but Dulinneth lay with her arms resting atop her blanket. She said nothing as her mother applied salve to the scratches from her climb earlier that day. She had already treated the cuts on Dulinneth’s legs and they were feeling better. The medicine felt good where it touched her wounds; it relieved the sting caused by the hot water and soap from her bath just a bit ago. Slowly the threat of tears passed.

Her mother smiled gently. “There, now that should help.”

“Thank you, Nana,” Dulinneth said, her voice subdued. “I am sorry for running off.”

“I know, dear. But your father and I want you to remember that every action has a consequence. You disobeyed us, and you could have been badly hurt. It was very lucky that the prince was there to catch you when he did. You understand, then, why you are confined to our talan this week?”

“Yes, Nana. I understand.” She ran her hands over the soft wool blanket before glancing at her mother and chewing on her lower lip. “Do you—do you think Prince Legolas is angry with me for falling on him?”

“I do not think so,” Galuves answered, smiling. She pulled the blanket more snugly around Dulinneth. “He seemed more worried than anything when he came by earlier.”

“I’m glad he is not angry.” Dulinneth tilted her head up for her mother’s kiss. “I’m going to marry him one day, you see.”

“Of course you are, dear. But first you should get some sleep so you can grow up properly.” Galuves kissed her again and then blew out the candle that stood glowing brightly on the bedside table. “Good night, little one.”

“Good night, Nana.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Dulinneth pressed her lips together to stop from crying out as the needle pierced her finger yet again. She raised the digit to her lips and put it into her mouth to suck the blood away, wincing. It was the fifth time already this afternoon. 

She sighed and began the next stitch. Careful, small, not too tight or too loose, she thought to herself as she slid the needle through the fabric and pulled the thread snug.  
It was the third day of her punishment. It was also her tenth begetting day. 

She was to be more careful, she had been told, and next time someone might not be there to catch her if she fell. She must behave like a young lady. She must learn to sew, to weave cloth, to do things fitting for a female. 

Well, as to that, she did not mind being a girl, and she did not mind learning the things she would need to know one day when she was married and running her own household. There was much to learn, after all, and she wanted to be a good wife to her future mate. She imagined sewing her husband’s shirts for him, and Prince Legolas would smile and tell her what a wonderful wife she was, and how kind, to do this for him. 

No, if she minded learning these things today it was only because it was so beautiful outside. It had been raining the last two days, which had made her being confined to her parents’ talan easier to bear, but the downpour had stopped at last and now the air smelled fresh and clean, the birds sang, and she could hear the sounds of the other children outside. They would be playing tag or running races under the watchful eyes of the guards, or hurrying to retrieve their arrows on the archery range. She longed to be out there with them, to be anywhere other than where she was. 

She let her legs swing back and forth, back and forth where they hung down over the chair seat. The skirts of the linen dress she wore swished softly around her legs, stirring the air and cooling her feet. She looked out the window and sighed again. 

Even worse than not being able to play outside was the fact that she had not even been allowed to taste the batter of the honey cakes her mother was baking for tonight. She tried not to sniff the air, but of course she could smell them anyway. Their rich aroma curled around her where she sat, teasing her cruelly.

It was not fair, she decided. She had only wanted to see her father and the prince as quickly as possible. They had been gone for three cycles of Ithil after all. She had missed her father, as she always did when he was away, for he was tall and strong and brave and gentle. Her mother had missed him too, she said, and Dulinneth had seen her watching outdoors, listening to things only she could hear.

And Legolas was all the things her father was, and more, like the sun coming out on a cloudy day, or rising in the morning and chasing away the darkness, and she liked being with him. She had not meant to fall on him.

The scent of honey and spices drifted closer, and she raised her head at the soft approach of her mother. Her eyes rounded at the small, sugar crusted cake centered upon a plate, and her mouth watered.

“Now then, you have been a good girl and not complained these last two days. But have you learned your lesson?”

Dulinneth nodded solemnly. “Yes, Nana.”

Her mother smiled warmly. “Then you may have a cake and you may go outside and play.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dulinneth ran first thing to find her friend Merileth. She was returning from the meadow with the other children. Several of the older ones carried picnic baskets between them, and Dulinneth swallowed back her envy that she had not been able to join them for the fun. She spied Merileth at the same time the blonde elleth saw her. She waved enthusiastically when she saw Dulinneth and ran forward ahead of the group. The two friends embraced as if they had been apart for a fortnight. 

“I heard you were being punished,” Merileth said softly, regarding her with solemn hazel eyes. “But what are you doing outside?”

“Nana said I had learned my lesson, so it is over. I wish she had said so yesterday.” Dulinneth made a face and sighed. 

“I am glad,” Merileth replied. “It was no fun without you there.”

“What did you do?”

“We had a picnic and races. And I made you something. Here, hold out your arm.” Merileth reached into the pocket hidden in the folds of her skirt and produced a length of woven threads in red and blue. “ ‘Tis a friendship bracelet,” she said, tying it around Dulinneth’s right wrist.  
Dulinneth held up her wrist to admire the braided design. “ ‘Tis very pretty,” she said, smiling. “Thank you.”  
“You’re welcome. Now then, what would you like to do?”

Dulinneth thought. “Well, we could go over to the archery range, to see if there’s anything to do there. If that is all right with you,” she added hastily.

“Of course it is,” Merileth assured her. “Anyway, it is your day and you get to decide.”

They clasped hands and hurried toward the range, past a ring where Dulinneth’s father was teaching close knife combat. She waved to him as they ran by, and he smiled and waved back before returning his attention to a pair of younger warriors who were circling each other warily. The ellith reached the range and settled upon the ground, cross-legged, to watch.

Legolas moved from recruit to recruit, correcting stances and aims. They were none of them novices, but they were still young and had not honed their skills as well as they should, or would, when they were older. He saw the two young ellith arrive out of the corner of his eye and jogged over to them. 

They both stood as he approached, and bowed. He nodded to them and smiled. “Good day, Merileth. Dulinneth, Happy Begetting Day,” he said. “Would you two like to retrieve arrows for us?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” they replied.

They spent some time running back and forth, picking up arrows and returning them to the warriors. After the last time up the field and back, Dulinneth shook her dark green skirts out and frowned. 

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we could wear leggings, like an ellon?” she said to Merileth. “I am so tired of picking my skirts up to run all the time.”

“Don’t be silly, of course we can’t,” Merileth answered. “Oh, there’s Nana. I must go. Good-bye, Dulinneth.”

“Good-bye, Merileth,” Dulinneth replied, hugging her. “I will see you on the morrow.”

The warriors began to leave the field also after their own dismissals. Legolas helped Dulinneth place the remaining training arrows back into their wooden container. 

“Why do you wish to wear leggings?” Legolas asked softly. “You are an elleth.”

“I know, but sometimes these skirts get in the way. I cannot run or climb. . .” Her voice trailed off in embarrassment.

Legolas pretended not to hear the last words. “But you will not always want to do such things. You will also want to learn special, feminine skills.”

“I know,” Dulinneth answered. “See, Nana is teaching me to sew.” She held up her left hand to show the tiny pricks in her fingers where she had jammed the needle through.

Legolas knelt beside her and took her hand, raising it to his lips, kissing each injured finger with due care. “Sewing is a worthy skill. If something of mine is torn or cut while I am in the wild, I must repair it.” He let go of her to point to a seam worked in dark brown thread on the left sleeve of his light green tunic. It was already pulling apart in places and would have to be re-done. “But alas, I am not very good at it,” he admitted.

Dulinneth looked up at him. “When I am grown up, I will mend your shirts for you.”

“That would be kindly appreciated, but you will have a husband of your own to sew for one day, and then what would I do?” he said, teasing slightly.

“But I am going to marry you.”

Legolas started at the determined little voice, at the solemn gaze she fixed upon him, but then she smiled, her little lips curving upward. He decided to play along, for of course he could not take her seriously. After all, she was only a child, and children often said outlandish things. “Then I would be a very lucky ellon indeed.” 

Her smile broadened, revealing her dimples, and he ruffled her chin-length hair playfully. She was going to be a beauty one day, he thought. Belegur would have his hands, and his talan, full with suitors when she came of age. 

“There is your father now, pen neth,” Legolas said, noticing the older warrior approaching. He stood back up and nodded a greeting to his mentor before looking down at the young elleth. “So I must bid you good-bye.”

“Good-bye, Legolas. And thank you again for catching me.” 

She was still smiling when she ran to her father. She took his hand and skipped merrily along beside him all the way home, happier than she could say that Prince Legolas thought her marrying him was a good idea. 

Dulinneth--Nightingale Girl  
Galuves—Good Fortune Wife  
Belegur—Great Heart  
Merileth—Rose  
Suldal—Wind Foot


	2. Apprenticeship

The cycle of seasons continued for several more years in Mirkwood, as it did in all Middle-earth, though in the Elven realms it passed almost without notice, and soon fifteen years had gone by. 

Autumn had once again arrived in all its glory, brushing the leaves of the beeches and oaks in crimson, orange, and gold. The days were still warm yet, but cooler weather was fast approaching. Birds had begun their migration to balmier climes, but other forest animals were preparing for the winter with ever more urgency. Dulinneth glanced up as a pair of squirrels raced their way around the trunk of a nearby tree and laughed softly at their antics as they ran higher and higher.

As children of all races do, Dulinneth had grown both older and taller, though at twenty-five summers she was still a child and very young yet in the eyes of her people. She had spent the morning with her mother and most of the other ellith in the village at the creek, doing the week’s washing. Her brown hair now reached past her shoulders, and she held part of it back with a hair clip in a loose bundle to keep it out of her way as she worked. She brushed back a strand of it now before rubbing the bar of lavender-scented soap over a particularly stubborn blueberry stain on the dress she was washing.

“You have done a good job,” Galuves praised her daughter as she looked over the garment a short time later. “You may spread it out to dry.”

“Yes, Nana.” 

Dulinneth jumped up, glad to be able to move again. Beside her Merileth was also getting to her feet with her own piece of laundry, and together they walked to the clearing to lay the clothing out on the sun-warmed ground to dry. 

“I am so glad we only do this once a week,” Merileth remarked, rolling her head back and around her shoulders from left to right.

“As am I,” Dulinneth answered. “But at least we are finished now and may spend the afternoon as we wish until everything has dried.”

“After we eat of course,” Merileth replied. “I don’t know about you, but I think I could eat a warg.”

Dulinneth giggled and poked her friend in the arm. “Let us be quick then, for you must be very hungry.” 

By the time they had completed their tasks and returned, Galuves and Merileth’s mother, Handis, had already spread a blanket between them and had unpacked their lunch baskets. There were blueberries, picked two days ago, and which had stained Dulinneth’s dress, and smoked venison which had been dried and mixed with berries and fat and then shaped into strips and dried again. The resulting food was both tasty and portable. Dulinneth’s stomach rumbled eagerly at the sight of it. She and Merileth sat cross-legged, their skirts draped over their feet, on the edge of the large gray cloth next to each other and began to eat. 

When she was pleasantly full Dulinneth asked, “May we go wading, please?” 

“Yes, Nana, may we?” Merileth added.

“Yes, you may,” Galuves gave her consent. 

Beside her, Handis nodded. “Of course.”

Dulinneth and her friend toed off their soft leather shoes and walked quickly to the stream, hiking their skirts up around their knees as they moved into the cold water. Dulinneth laughed as the sandy bed tried to suck her feet down into it. She spread her toes and wiggled them, delighted at the feeling as the tiny loose grains of worn rock swirled around it. Together she and Merileth waded downstream, not noticing how far they were going as they enjoyed the warmth of the sun.

“Let us run to the other side and back,” Dulinneth suggested after a while, looking to Merileth to see what she thought of the idea. They had often done so when they were younger, but her friend was a year older and sometimes wanted to act even more adult-like than Dulinneth tried to do.

Merileth agreed. “All right. But not too many turns.”

The two of them headed for the opposite bank. Further on the sandy bottom gave way to pebbles and then larger rocks. Dulinneth made it to them quickly and stepped from one to the next, sometimes leaping, her toes grasping at the edges of the slick surfaces to stay upright. She reached the far bank and turned back to flash a smile at her friend.

Merileth had just passed the middle of the stream and was about to leap to the next, larger rock when a group of ellyn raced across. The younger boys were pushing and shoving at each other in an attempt to jostle for the lead in their own race. Dulinneth shouted a warning to Merileth as they drew closer but it was too late—her friend was hit and propelled backwards. She reached out behind, one- handed, to avoid hitting her head on the stone.

Dulinneth ran forward, sending water splashing into the air in her wake. She dropped to her knees next to Merileth. She was startled to see tears in her friend’s eyes.  
“Are you all right?”

“It hurts. . . My arm. . . I heard a snap,” Merileth gasped.

“I’ll help you stand and take you to Master Haerelon,” Dulinneth said, her voice decisive. She was already getting to her feet. “Here, give me your hand.”

Merileth held out her good arm and grasped Dulinneth’s hand with her own, but when she tried to push off the floor of the creek she gave a cry. She sat upright, cradling her left arm. “I cannot. It pains me to move it.” 

Dulinneth lowered her gaze from Merileth’s tear-streaked face to her arm. It was bent at an odd angle, as if something inside of it had snapped and did not hold it properly. “You cannot move it at all?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

Dulinneth looked around to see if any of the ellyn had noticed what they had done and had remained behind, but they were all far downstream by now and would not be of any help. And she and Merileth had wandered far from their own mothers. She bit her lip, her brow furrowing as her mind raced. Why, oh why, had she suggested wading in the creek and then racing across it? What was she to do now? 

She thought first to run to the healing wing and bring the Master Healer back here, but that might take too long, and Merileth was in such pain already. It would be better if she could get Merileth to him, or at least she thought so. There had to be a way to keep her arm immobile so it would not hurt so much when they walked. If only there was a way. Perhaps something firm. . . Like an arrow or some such that she could tie to Merileth’s arm to hold it still as they walked. But what?

Her eyes shot to the bank she had just run from. There were more trees there. Perhaps there were smaller branches lying on the ground that she could use.   
“Merileth, I’ll be back soon,” she murmured. 

She rose and hurried back to the other shore and began to look around for what she needed. It took her longer than she had hoped but she found three twigs that looked suitably sturdy. She rushed back to the creek and splashed across to Merileth’s side again. She looked even worse than before, and Dulinneth felt a sharp pang of guilt seize her. 

“I’m going to get you to the healer,” she promised with far more confidence than she felt. “Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”

She took the dagger she wore at her belt and lifted her dress to cut a strip of muslin from the underskirt. She then cut that in thirds and began tying the sticks of wood to Merileth’s arm. She paused then and wondered if she should try to make it easier for Merileth to hold her arm still against her body. Well, she had already ruined her underclothes. . . She looked around quickly to make sure there were no prying eyes and then removed the garment and cut it open at one seam. This she held beneath Merileth’s arm and taking each end, she tied it around the back of her friend’s neck. 

“All right,” Dulinneth said softly, “that’s the best I can do.” She took Merileth by her other arm and urged her to stand. She winced herself when Merileth gasped in pain. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Merileth!”

Carefully Dulinneth helped her walk the distance to the caverns. She tried to distract her friend from the pain by pointing out things along the way, but it did not seem to help very much. Merileth was still sobbing when they entered the House of Healing, and Dulinneth was on the verge of tears herself.

The Master Healer rose from behind his cluttered desk and moved toward them when they entered his domain. He was an ancient Elf, with hair the same shade as the king’s and eyes almost as blue. Dulinneth had never met him before, but she immediately knew he would take care of her friend. She led Merileth forward. 

“What has happened?” he asked.

“ ‘Tis my friend, Merileth. She’s hurt her arm,” Dulinneth answered before stepping back.

“Let us see what is wrong,” he said, leading Merileth to a chair. He examined the injury with sure eyes and gentle hands. “Yes, it’s definitely broken. Who put on the splint?” he asked Merileth.

“It was Dulinneth who did,” she answered, gesturing with her good arm. “It was as if she just knew what to do.”

“Was it now?” he asked, glancing toward Dulinneth. 

“Yes, Master Haerelon. I mean—I did put the splint on,” Dulinneth answered softly, dropping her eyes to the floor. “I hope I did not do wrong,” she added worriedly.

“No, you did very well. You kept her arm from getting hurt even more.”

“Can you mend it?” Dulinneth wondered.

“Oh yes. It will need setting, but first young mistress Merileth will have to drink something for the pain.” He walked to a wall of shelves as he spoke and took down a jar. “Here we are. I shall need some water, over there, in that barrel on that wall.”

Dulinneth nodded and hurried to it. She took the large round ladle and used it to scoop some into a cup and then walked quickly back to where the healer was waiting. He thanked her and poured a small amount of the powder into the drink and then gave the solution to Merileth. Dulinneth fought back a laugh at her friend’s expression at the taste, which must have been foul judging from the way she scrunched her face up, for she did not wish to make Merileth feel worse. 

“Drink up, pen neth,” the healer said. “All of it.”

At last she finished the concoction, and the healer announced they must wait for it to take effect. He went then to check on another patient, and Dulinneth looked around the room with interest at the medicines and the healing implements. What an interesting place it must be to spend one’s day, and what rewarding work, helping those who were injured. 

She turned back to her friend. She looked slightly better now, less in pain. “How are you feeling?”

“It hurts still,” she answered. “But not as badly as before.” 

“I’ll go find Master Haerelon,” Dulinneth murmured. 

She walked in the direction the healer had gone. His voice suddenly sounded to her left and she stopped. 

“The stitches will hold as long as you go easy on him in training, Your Highness.”

“Worry not, Master Haerelon. He will sit fast until he remembers my instructions.”

Her eyes widened. Prince Legolas. She had not realized he was here in the House of Healing too. Her heart began to race with both joy and trepidation. Ai, what would he think of her? Once again she had done something foolish that he would be witness to. She wanted to run back to Merileth out of embarrassment, but she wanted to stay too, to catch a glimpse of him, if she could. She was too old to fetch arrows now, and she did not see him as often as she wanted. The door opened before she could decide either way.

“Ah, Dulinneth. How is your friend? Is she ready to have her bone set?”

But her attention was ensnared by Legolas as he emerged from the room behind the healer, leading a brown-haired youth with a bandaged arm, and she did not hear the question Master Haerelon had asked. Dulinneth could not stop staring at the prince as he drew closer to her. A few stray hairs had escaped his braids, and he had a bruise forming on his right cheek. The sleeves of his tunic were rolled up to his elbows, revealing a smudge of dirt on one forearm. She worried that he, too, might be hurt, but he did not appear so, only slightly mussed from training, and she breathed a sigh of relief. His blue eyes twinkled down at her, and he smiled, causing heat to rise in her face, her heart to soar, and her legs to tremble so much she thought she might fall over when she curtsied to him. Valar, he was so very handsome! 

“Dulinneth? Your friend, is she ready?”

She blushed and drew her eyes from Legolas reluctantly. “Yes, my Lord, I think so.”

“Let us go set her arm then, shall we?” 

“What’s happened?” Legolas wanted to know, looking from Dulinneth to the healer and back again.

“Merileth fell in the creek when we were playing,” Dulinneth replied. “Master Haerelon says her arm is broken, but he will fix it.”

“And this child splinted it, and very well too,” Haerelon told him.

“Did you, now?” Legolas asked, moving closer. He caught a strand of her hair and gave it a playful tug. “I’m very proud of you, Dulinneth.”

Dulinneth looked down in spite of the warm sensations that filled her whole being at his nearness. She was not so certain he should be proud of her. Though she was happy she had managed to bring Merileth to the healer, she felt terrible for causing her injury to begin with. Quietly she said, “I was only trying to help. It was all my fault, you see, that she was hurt.”

There. He would think she was awful now and would never speak to her again. She tried to prepare herself for losing his regard, but even the possibility of it brought fresh tears to her eyes. She was surprised, therefore, when he rested his hand on her shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze.

“Accidents happen, and when they do, pen neth, ‘tis no one’s fault,” he softly told her. 

Legolas sent his trainee back to the practice field and walked with them the short distance back to Merileth’s side. He kept his hand on her shoulder as they walked, and Dulinneth’s feet fairly floated above the floor the whole way as she savored the warm contact. When they arrived, Legolas offered to find their mothers and let them know where they were. He then said good-bye, smiled again at Dulinneth, and left. Dulinneth watched him leave as she moved out of the way so that the healer could set her friend’s arm and re-bind it, relieved that Legolas did not think ill of her.

When their mothers arrived, Dulinneth hugged her friend and whispered that she would visit her soon as Handis led her away. Dulinneth was torn now between emotions. She felt badly for causing Merileth to be hurt in the first place, but she was glad she had been able to help, even in a small way. It filled her now with quiet joy. 

She liked the feeling very much. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dulinneth was seated beside her mother a few nights later, doing embroidery, when a knock sounded upon their door. She looked up, curious, when her father moved to answer it and was surprised to see the Master Healer enter the room. She rose and bowed respectfully to him before returning to her seat, but her needle sat idle in the cloth as she waited to see what Master Haerelon had come to see her family about. 

For the last days she had been helping in the healing wing a few hours after she finished her chores and her lessons. Master Haerelon had suggested it when her mother had come to retrieve her and said she would have to be punished for going so far away and causing Merileth to be injured. He had said he wanted to see if her quick thinking when she had splinted Merileth’s arm had been mere luck or whether she might have the qualities of a true healer. 

“Good evening, all. I shall not keep you long,” he said, declining an offer of a chair. “How is your friend?”

“She is doing better, my Lord, thank you,” Dulinneth answered.

“I am glad to hear it. As I said the other day that was a wise thing you did.” He paused here and turned to Dulinneth’s parents. “Captain Belegur, Lady Galuves, I wonder if I might offer an apprenticeship to your daughter. I think she may make a fine healer.”

“We are honored, my Lord,” Belegur said after sharing a long look with Galuves. “We should like to talk it over among ourselves, for she is young, as you can see.”

“Of course. Take all the time you need,” Haerelon responded. “Rest assured, however, that she would only do the simplest of tasks at first, considering her age, but I do think she would do well if she chose this path.”

Dulinneth said nothing throughout the exchange. She wondered what her parents were thinking. She wondered why the Master Healer thought her worthy of an apprenticeship, for she had done only what she thought might help. But she had so liked helping Merileth. Could she really be a healer one day?

“I wish you all a good night, then,” Master Haerelon was saying. 

Dulinneth stood and curtsied automatically. She followed the healer and her father to the door with her eyes but remained silent. Inside she was quivering with excitement, but she was resigned to waiting patiently for her parents to speak first. She watched as her father returned to his seat and picked up his book. She picked up her embroidery and sat down again next to her mother. Her father spoke then, as she was about to ply her needle once more.

“Well, daughter, what say you? Do you think you might like to be a healer?” 

Handis--Intelligent Bride  
Haerelon--Distant Star


	3. Yearnings

Dulinneth turned this way and that to study her reflection in the mirror in her bedchamber. Today was her fiftieth begetting day, the day she reached adulthood, but she looked the same as she had yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. 

A sigh, equal parts disappointment and disgust, fell from her lips, and her shoulders drooped as she studied her likeness in the mirror. Her breasts were small compared to her mother’s, and even to Merileth’s. Her hips were barely visible, even when she pulled her dress back tight against her body in a vain attempt to accentuate them. Somehow she had expected a magical transformation that would be visible to everyone, or some indication at least that she was now an adult. But there was no such sign. She did not look grown up at all. Anyone who saw her today would think her still an adolescent. 

But she did not mope about her looks for long. She drew herself up, determination steeling her spine, and she lifted her chin in defiance of her outward appearance. In face and form she was still very much as she had been for some years now, that much was true, but it was not something she was going to let herself be distressed about. She was as she was, and that was just going to have to be good enough. 

The one part of her reflection she did like was her hair. It was her best feature, she thought. It fell in soft waves to her waist and it was finally a bit darker than it had been when she was younger, though it would never be the near black her mother’s was, for Galuves was half Noldorin, and Dulinneth was only one-quarter. 

She took her sandalwood comb and began sliding it now through the long, tangled strands. When it was smooth and glossy she pulled two thick strands, one from each side of her head, and twisted them together behind her head. She secured them with an oval-shaped hair clip worked in silver and stepped back to make certain the hairstyle looked neat. After a minute she shook her head and tugged the clip free. She was not working in the House of Healing today; she would wear her hair down, she decided, and ran her comb quickly back through it one last time. With a final look in the mirror, she left her room. 

Dulinneth hurried then to help her mother with breakfast. The water on the cook stove was just coming to a boil when she entered the small kitchen area. Galuves scooped a portion of oats into the pot before adding another piece of wood to the belly of the stove. She turned to her daughter with a smile.

“Good morning, dear. Happy Begetting Day.”

Dulinneth kissed her mother’s cheek. “Thank you, Nana. Good morning.”

She moved to the table and began slicing the thick, crusty loaf of currant bread and piling the pieces on a plate. Afterwards she watched her mother as she stirred the rapidly bubbling mixture and wished she could do half as well when she tried to make it. Her own attempts at cooking porridge had been less than edible—it almost always turned out either half-done and lumpy, or even worse, burnt, and no amount of honey could alter the taste of it. She thought her parents very brave to eat it whenever she tried to cook it for breakfast. But she would have to learn to master the process, else if she ever married, her unfortunate future husband might find himself with little choice in what to eat in the mornings. Which would not do at all. She could not have him starve.

Her father was just arriving at the table when they emerged from the kitchen with the food. Dulinneth smiled and rose on tiptoe for his greeting kiss. 

“Good morning, daughter,” he said. “And what do you do today?” 

“I planned to spend some time with Merileth,” she replied as she took her seat. 

“And how are her preparations for her binding ceremony coming along?” Galuves asked.

“We are nearly finished sewing everything for it,” Dulinneth answered. 

“I’m sure she appreciates all your help,” Belegur said.

Dulinneth had been embroidering a riot of roses and leaves around the collar of Merileth’s dress in her spare time from her duties in the healing wing. The gown itself was nearly complete except for that and the hem. She thought of how much she had left to do, almost the whole front neckline, but it was going to look well on her friend and was worth the painstaking needle-work. “I do not mind doing it,” she answered.

“Of course not, dear. And perhaps one day Merileth will help you with garments for your own binding ceremony,” Galuves said.

Dulinneth gave a very unladylike snort at the idea. “That might be a long time in the future.” 

“I think not. I daresay it will not be long before you, too, will begin to have suitors, now that you’re of age,” Belegur replied.

The spoonful of porridge stopped halfway to Dulinneth’s mouth, and her eyes darted back and forth between her parents. “Suitors,” she echoed, her voice just above a whisper. “Is that not. . . So soon?” 

“Does it not please you to know you might have young ellyn petitioning for your hand?” Belegur asked.

“No, Ada. It is just. . .” Her voice trailed off and she looked down at her still raised spoon. She replaced it in her bowl and held back a sigh. It was not that she was not pleased or flattered at the idea. She was, after a fashion. Yet she doubted any of her potential suitors would be Legolas. He was older, a seasoned warrior of seven centuries. Presumably, if he wed, it would be to someone much closer to his own age. 

“Of course the final say is yours,” Galuves added. 

“There are many fine young ellyn in the realm,” Belegur said. “Prince Legolas, for example. . . You’d be hard pressed to find one more noble in nature than he is, or braver, save for his father. Anyone would be proud to welcome him as a law-son.”

Dulinneth nearly choked on the mouthful of water she had just taken, and she felt her face heat. She had thought her continued interest in Legolas was not so obvious now, for she had tried these last years to be more discreet and not talk about him as much as she once had. It was clear that she had been mistaken in her belief that she had been so. Her parents knew of her feelings for him, or had some idea of them, which she supposed was inevitable, since they understood her so well. But what of Legolas? Did he know how she felt? Did he find her infatuation a source of amusement? The very idea was mortifying.

She glanced up quickly in dismay, but her parents were smiling at each other over her head. She bit her lip and looked down again, stirring her porridge slowly around and around her bowl. At last she spoke. “If it is all right, I would like to think about such things, for a time.” 

“Of course, dear. There’s no rush,” Galuves assured her.

“None at all,” Belegur added. 

Dulinneth looked from one to the other of them, but they had returned their own attention to their food, and with a frown, she quietly finished hers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She met Legolas on the way to Merileth’s talan. He was just leaving the keep, his bow in hand and his quiver strapped to his back. She had always admired that about him, his dedication to his battle skills. Even on the rainiest of mornings when she was slogging through puddles to reach the House of Healing for her duties, she would see him heading toward the archery field to practice. 

As he approached, Dulinneth’s heart began to pound furiously and a frisson of excitement shivered up her spine before radiating throughout her being. The feeling was nothing new, but it still surprised her with its intensity. She had always been drawn to him, had always liked him, but with the onset of puberty she had begun to notice him in a whole new way, and it manifested itself in this rather unsettling physical response which she could not seem to control.

She found him comely beyond any of the other ellyn she knew, from his fair face, to his broad archer’s shoulders, to his lean waist, and his long legs. She saw him more often since she worked in the keep--in the great hall during the noon meal, and every once in a while she would encounter him in the corridors. Sometimes she even saw him on the training fields, if she happened to pass by that way, where on hot summer days he would practice his archery or his knife skills in a sleeveless shirt, and her eager gaze took in the play of muscles in his arms with fascination. Each time he seemed more enticing to her than the last, and each time she felt warmth rush through her, especially if their eyes happened to meet. 

Dulinneth now looked at him covertly from beneath lowered lashes. He wore his hair plaited in its customary warrior braids, the ends where they were tied off swinging slightly to hit his shoulders as he moved. The sleeves of his light green tunic were cinched at the wrists by leather braces. He wore dark gray trousers tucked into boots. It was how he usually dressed when he went to practice, but Dulinneth never tired of seeing him looking thus, masculine and dangerous. It made her heart flutter anew with appreciation and longing.

“Good morrow, Your Highness,” she said, dipping into a graceful curtsy and hoping that her voice did not tremble as much as her knees did. How, she wondered, could he be even more comely than he was the last time she had encountered him? 

He stopped and smiled at her. She looked as pretty as ever this morning, with her brown hair glowing in the faint sunlight and a pink stain upon her cheeks. “Good morrow, Dulinneth. ‘Tis a fine day, is it not.”

“It is, my Lord.” 

“And how do you intend to spend your Begetting Day?” he asked. But he had caught sight of the bundle pressed against her chest. “But I see you will do some sewing.”

Dulinneth’s heart leapt again. He remembered. “I’m embroidering Merileth’s gown for her binding ceremony.”

“That’s very generous of you,” Legolas replied, this time with a half smile. “No more needle wounds, I hope,” he said, glancing at her fingers.

Dulinneth blushed. _Only when I’m distracted by thoughts of you. _“No, Your Highness.”__

“I’m glad,” he replied. He looked up, his eyes meeting hers and getting caught there in the warmth of them. They were such a soft green, like new moss. He tore his gaze from them, glanced down, to her lips, soft and pink, parted slightly. He felt heat rise up his neck and shifted his feet. He cleared his throat, glanced away, looked at her again. “Well, I should let you get on then.” 

“Thank you, my Lord,” she murmured, curtsying again. “Good day to you.”

Decorum dictated that he should leave before she did, but he made no move to pass by, and for a moment more she stood, her heart beating faster and faster against her ribs until she thought it might burst free of her chest. At last he spoke. 

“Good day.” He smiled again and moved past her, nodding at her as he did so.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Legolas took a few steps toward the range, but then he stopped and looked back to where he had left Dulinneth standing. He felt he should apologize for being so brusque just now, but she was already walking slowly away, the skirts of her blue dress swaying slightly. 

The morning breeze lifted her hair from where it hung about her waist. It was down today, he realized. He liked seeing it that way, falling in soft waves. Very pretty, he thought again, remembering the way the tips of her ears had peeked out through the shining mass. 

As he stood there watching her, Dulinneth halted and glanced in his direction. Their eyes met across the short distance and her mouth curved into a hesitant smile. Legolas’ heart slammed to a halt before pounding away again with alarming rapidity. He swallowed, barely managing to return her smile just as her friend came out to greet her, sweeping her up the talan steps and inside her dwelling. 

Legolas stood there a moment longer, feeling slightly disoriented, before he turned and continued on his way to the training fields.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re going to make a beautiful bride.” 

“Do you really think so?” Merileth asked.

Dulinneth slid her needle through the soft white piece of linen at the collar of the dress she was embroidering and pulled it snug. The intricate design was coming along very well; the colors would show her friend’s complexion to advantage. She looked up and smiled at the hopeful yet uncertain expression on Merileth’s face. “The most beautiful,” she added. “I doubt even Princess Edraithel will outshine you when she weds.”

“Now I know you are flattering me, for surely she is the loveliest creature in Mirkwood.”

“But she will not be the bride at your ceremony,” Dulinneth reminded her. “Gorvion will not be able to look anywhere else but at you.”

At the mention of her betrothed’s name, Merileth blushed. “I do hope I will not be a disappointment to him.”

“Of course you could not ever be,” Dulinneth replied, shaking her head at the very idea. “What makes you say so?”

“It is just that we have never been intimate, and I only know what Nana has told me of such things,” Merileth admitted softly.

That was all that Dulinneth knew as well, but she pursed her lips in sympathy anyway. “Not even once?”

Merileth pushed her own needle through the diaphanous sleeping gown she was sewing. “No.” 

“But surely you have kissed?”

“Oh yes, and it is quite nice.” Merileth looked up and leaned forward conspiratorially, her cheeks turning pink once again. “He has touched my breasts too, and lower.”

“Lower?” Dulinneth felt her own face heat. “You mean. . . There? And—and did you like it? I mean, was it nice too?”

“Oh, yes. It was very nice. But I wish we could do more,” Merileth confessed, sighing. “When I am with him I feel hot all over, as if I’m near a great fire.”

Dulinneth nodded slowly. That was how she felt whenever she was near Legolas, which was not often enough. But whenever he was close by, as he had been earlier, her entire body grew heated and she thought she might actually catch fire. 

“I wish he would take me soonest.”

“Merileth!” Dulinneth exclaimed, nearly dropping the pile of fabric, threads, and needle from her lap. 

“I cannot help it, Dulinneth. I desire him,” Merileth explained.

“And well you should, for he is your betrothed,” Dulinneth said, rearranging the bundle upon her lap. “Yet I don’t think I should hear any more. How could I ever look Gorvion in the face again?”

Merileth bent to her own task again, and Dulinneth began embroidering another leaf. But after a moment their eyes met. Dulinneth’s lips quirked into a smile. Merileth grinned back. Dulinneth began to giggle, and Merileth quickly joined her. 

It was a long time before either of them could focus on their work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

That night after dinner, when the food and eating utensils were cleared away, Dulinneth looked up in surprise when several packages were brought out of her parents’ bedchamber and set ceremoniously before her.

“So many?”

“It’s not every day a young lady comes to adulthood,” her father replied. “And such occasions should be well-marked.”

“This one first,” her mother said, indicating one of the gifts. 

Dulinneth smiled and opened the large flat package to reveal a gown of deep green silk damask. She let her fingers brush over it, feeling the smooth fabric and watching it shimmer in the candlelight. It was lovely. After a moment she pulled it out of the box and gasped with joy. It was a dress made for an adult female, not for a youth eager to be grown up. 

The bodice was cut low, with upper sleeves that would fit tight, while the lower half opened into a bell-shape below the elbow, with a longer trail of fabric toward the back of the arm. The narrow waist flared slightly into a long skirt. She stood and held the dress up against her and gazed down to see how it might look when she wore it. She could hardly wait to try it on. “Oh, this—What a beautiful gown! Thank you, Nana, Ada.”

After she had admired it for some time she folded it carefully and placed it back into its cloth wrapping for safekeeping. She opened the second package. Inside Dulinneth found a pair of shoes of light brown leather. She drew them both out, toed off her slippers, and eagerly tried on the new pair. They were soft and comfortable as she moved about in them. After taking her seat again, she pulled her skirt up to her ankles and stuck her feet out to admire them. “They fit perfectly, and they feel wonderful. Thank you.”

The last gift was a cloak. It was made of wool, cream colored, and finely woven, and was lined in velvet a slightly paler green than the dress. She stood and wrapped it around her shoulders, tying the laces together at her throat. The garment fell almost to her toes. It was well-made and would keep her warm for many winters. 

“This is lovely. All of it. It’s too much, really,” she said to her parents, folding and putting the the cloak back away as well. She hurried to kiss them both affectionately. “But thank you.”

“Nonsense,” her mother replied. “You’re all grown up now and you need adult clothes. And you’ll need something suitable for Princess Edraithel’s wedding.”

“Yes, of course,” Dulinneth said, her thoughts flying to that event. 

The princess’ wedding was just over a fortnight away. Legolas would be there, standing on the sidelines to watch his sister bind to her betrothed. Afterwards there would be feasting and dancing. And Dulinneth would wear her new dress. . . Perhaps he would notice her, really see her--not as Captain Belegur’s daughter, not as a healer, but as a young woman.

And if he did not, well, perhaps she could get him to see her as she wanted him to. As soon she figured out a way. 

Edraithel—Saving Sister  
Gorvion—Son of Vigor


	4. Gentle Challenge

Two weeks. Two weeks since she had come of age and she still had no ideas how to get Legolas’ attention. Merileth had said she should pretend to be interested in other men, but although that might have worked for her, but Dulinneth doubted Legolas would notice if she flirted with someone else. But what if she flirted with him instead? Would he laugh at her? No, of course not. He would never be cruel; it was not in his nature. He would he be kind and pretend to enjoy her attempts to show her interest in him, but he would not laugh at her. She would just have to think harder. At the moment she knew of no other way to gain his attention. Her mother’s advice to just be herself did not seem to be working. Ai, why did these things have to be so difficult? 

Dulinneth turned her thoughts to her other problem. She had two potential suitors already. They had spoken to her father about courting her, but not to her yet, which was just as well, for she had been trying to think of a way to let them down as easily as she could. She did not want to hurt anyone, but she simply could not accept either of their suits.

Her hands stilled on the linen strip she was rolling into a bandage, and she glanced down at them where they rested in her lap, her brows drawn together. Should she give others a chance to woo her instead of focusing on one who might never see her as more than the daughter of his mentor, more than a child? But just the thought of doing so caused her heart to contract painfully. 

“I beg your pardon.” 

Dulinneth looked up, startled, to see a warrior holding a blood-stained cloth against one arm. He was a brown-haired ellon with dark blue eyes. She rose and walked over to where he stood in the doorway, regarding her.

“Prince Legolas sent me to have this looked at,” he said, unnecessarily indicating the hurt limb. 

“Ah. Well, let us take a look, shall we?” She carefully lifted away the cloth. There was a cut on his forearm, not very deep, but certainly more than a scratch. 

“Is it bad?” 

He sounded very hopeful that it was, and Dulinneth glanced at him sharply to find him smiling. His eyes were warm as they touched her face and she lowered her own to his arm once more. He seemed eager that his injury was going to keep him in the House of Healing for a while, and she suppressed a sigh. Could he be one of those ellyn her father had said were interested in courting her? Yet perhaps he was merely being friendly, she chided herself. She was not so vain, after all, as to think every ellon she met might want to woo her into marriage. She nearly snorted with laughter at the idea. 

But he was definitely trying to flirt with her. She bit the inside of her lower lip as she considered how to respond. “It does not look good,” Dulinneth said.

“Will it need stitching?”

“I’m certain it will. And quite a lot by the looks of it.”

“I’m Candor,’ he said, his smile broadening to a grin. 

“A pleasure to meet you, Candor.” Bold certainly suited him, Dulinneth mused as she turned to reach for a jar of healing unguent on a shelf. She could feel him staring at her, but when she faced him again he appeared to be more concerned with his cut. She took down another bottle and went to get a cup, pouring some of the contents into it and adding water.

“Here, drink this. It will help once I begin sewing.”

“I don’t really need it.”

“Come now, don’t be brave,” she admonished gently. “You’ll thank me for it later.”

“Well if you insist,” he replied. He took the goblet and tilted it back, draining the contents. 

Dulinneth waited for the drug to take effect, watching for his eyes to dull and his breathing to even out a bit. She then took her needle, threaded it, and carefully began to sew. Stitching wounds was now quite familiar to her, routine in fact. Not like the first time she had been tasked to sew up a knife wound. She had gotten so sick to her stomach she had run from the healing house afterward and thrown up. 

Right in front of Legolas. Almost on his boots, in fact. 

Even now she cringed as she remembered it. He had not said a word in mockery to her; he had been very kind, actually. He had given her his handkerchief to clean herself and expressed his sympathy as he helped her to her feet, but she had been so embarrassed about it that she had avoided him for several days afterwards.

She finished her sewing quickly, not as many stitches as she had said, and applied the healing salve over the closed wound. She was just wrapping a bandage around his arm when Candor spoke again. 

“And what is your name, beautiful maiden?” he asked. 

“I’m a healer,” she said simply, at the same time a voice came from the entrance to the room, “I hardly think that matters.”

Dulinneth’s hands began to tremble, and she looked up, her lips forming a smile, which quickly faded. The prince’s arms were folded across his chest, his lips a hard line of disapproval, and his eyes glittered dangerously. She dropped her gaze back to her work, wondering what he was angry about.

“Have you not been in here long enough?” Legolas asked the young warrior, his voice clipped, harsh. 

“Yes, Your Highness,” Candor mumbled, jumping up and bowing to the prince almost before Dulinneth had tied off the ends of the bandage. He darted from the room without another look in her direction.

Dulinneth frowned. Who was Legolas to order a patient out of the healing house when he was being treated? He might be the prince and the warrior’s commanding officer as well, but even so, it was just not done. She left the chair upon which she had been perched and walked over to where Legolas stood by the door. His head was in profile to her, so she could not see his eyes, but he seemed to be glaring after the other warrior. Dulinneth did not know what to think, for Candor had done nothing to warrant such censure. And nor had she, she thought, flushing guiltily. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness, but I do not see what the hurry was. He was injured. You sent him to be tended, and I was doing that,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Legolas turned back to face her, his eyes dark. He tried to calm himself, tried to tell himself it was only the fact that the warrior had been trying to flirt with her as she worked on his arm that had angered him. It had nothing at all to do with the way Dulinneth had been sitting so close to him. Nothing at all to do with the way she had seemed to enjoy Candor’s attention. “It was a mere cut. A bandage would have sufficed.”

She stiffened with anger at his response. He was telling her how to do her job? How would he like it if she told him the best way to skewer an Orc? Not that she would know how to, but still, there was the principle of the thing. “It was deep enough to need stitches,” she countered. “You would not have me be remiss in my duties, would you?”

His eyes widened in surprise. She had never spoken to him in such a manner; she had always been demure and respectful toward him. And she had never looked at him the way she was looking at him now either. Her eyes, usually so warm and soft were snapping fire, and her cheeks were stained red. But he supposed she had a point; he was being unreasonable, turning his ire at Candor onto her, when she did not deserve it. 

“No, Dulinneth, I would not,” he answered, his countenance softening.

She nodded, and only then did she notice how her knees were shaking. “Was—was there anything that you needed then?” 

“Only to check what was keeping one of my men.” 

“I see.” Disappointment tried to choke her, but she met his stare with one of her own. She refused to look away, even when his eyes bored into hers again. She raised her chin even more. “Well, the riddle is solved then, and I’m sure you are busy, too, Your Highness, so I will not keep you either.” 

His eyebrows rose and a smile suddenly tugged at his lips. “So I am dismissed?”

Her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes widened. “Oh! Oh, I did not mean--.”

“I know you did not,” he said, laughing slightly. But then his smile faded and his eyes grew serious. “But Dulinneth, you must be careful. There are those who would take advantage of your innocence.”

She would love to get him to “take advantage” of her, as he put it. Perhaps a kiss. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips at the thought. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

His eyes left hers, glanced lower and settled on her lips. Dulinneth felt them begin to tingle, and the sensation quickly swept down her body until it seemed one single artery, thrumming beneath his regard, heating her so she wished she had a cool cloth to press to her face.

“ ‘Tis not a matter to trifle over,” he said after another silence. 

“I know,” she replied, breathless. “And I do thank you for your concern. I know ‘tis well-meant. But I am not a child to be protected either. I am of age.” 

Legolas opened his mouth, looked as if he might say something more, but closed it just as quickly. Then he nodded. 

“I will let you return to your duties, then. Good day, my Lady,” he murmured, and then he was gone, leaving her standing there, alone and puzzled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

At lunchtime Dulinneth grabbed the apple she had put aside at breakfast and headed toward the stable. It was a large, well kept structure, with room for the mounts of the warriors, visiting dignitaries, and of course, Thranduil’s family. There was no one about when she entered, and she was glad. She liked being around people, of course, but there were times, like now, that she needed to be alone, and she could not stay in the healing house all day. So she had decided to visit her father’s horse. 

Legolas had behaved very strangely earlier. It was odd that he would be upset over the length of time it would take to sew a wound. And he should have known it needed more than bandaging. No doubt he had seen plenty such injuries before. What had made him so angry?

And as for Candor, his attention had been nice, flattering even, in a way, but it had made her feel uncomfortable as well. In her head she knew she had done nothing wrong by going along with his flirtation, but in her heart she had felt disloyal to Legolas. It was not an activity she would repeat. She truly hoped he had not gone away with the wrong idea about anything.

She made her way to Gilroch’s stall, freshly laid straw crinkling under her feet. The black gelding that was her father’s mount whinnied in greeting as she came close to him. Dulinneth smiled and rubbed his nose along the outline of the white star for which he was named. At least he was not hard to understand. 

“You like that, don’t you?” she said. Gilroch nudged her hand and she laughed. “Yes, I’ve brought a treat for you, mellon. Don’t be so impatient. . .”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Legolas paused in the stable doorway as the sound of feminine laughter reached his ears. He looked around, wondering who it could be. Perhaps one of the stable hands was having an assignation while most everyone was cleared out of the area, but a glance up at the hay loft showed no signs of use. With a shrug, he continued heading toward his horse’s stall.

“You’re a frisky fellow today, aren’t you?”

As soon as he recognized Dulinneth’s voice he frowned. What was she doing in the stable with an ellon? And what was he doing anyway, to be deemed so frisky? 

There was another husky laugh. It shivered up and down his spine, made his stomach quiver and tighten. 

“That tickles.” There was silence for a moment and then, “Stop that, or you’ll get no more treats.”

Legolas decided he was going to listen to no more. If it was Candor he was going to thrash him and then put him on latrine duty for a fortnight. Nay, twice that. He hurried toward the sound of her voice, his hands bunched into fists. She could be angry with him afterwards, but he would not walk away if she needed his help. 

“All right, that’s en. . . ”

He stopped short, his voice trailing off. Dulinneth stood calmly before a stall feeding bits of an apple to Belegur’s horse. She was feeding him piece by piece, and each time he took the offering he licked her hand, making her laugh. No one was accosting her. A breath of air rushed from his lips, and he wondered if he could feel any more foolish. 

“What is?” she asked, turning her attention from the horse to Legolas. The gelding nudged her in the back of the head.

“What?” He stared at her, thinking how pretty she looked with her eyes sparkling and her hair mussed. “I thought someone bothered you.”

“Only Gilroch here, but he is just being himself when it comes to apples. Aren’t you, mellon?” Dulinneth murmured, patting the glossy black horse affectionately on the nose. She wiped her hands on her skirts and turned to face him. 

“I didn’t mean to intrude. I thought. . . you. . .needed help,” he said lamely, feeling very foolish indeed.

“You are my champion today, it seems, Your Highness. Thank you.”

“I was just going to check on my horse,” he said, hoping to change the subject away from his silly over-protective feelings. What was coming over him anyway? “Would you like to see him?”

At that Dulinneth smiled, making his insides jump in reaction. They walked side by side to where a gray stallion was lazily chewing his oats. The horse tossed his head and whinnied as Legolas approached, bumping his shoulder when he stopped at the gate. On cue he produced an apple from a pocket and cut off a slice, offering it to him. 

Dulinneth held out a hand toward the horse. “Hello, Daeroch,” she said quietly. The horse sniffed at her hand, but finding no treat, turned his attention back to Legolas, who chuckled softly. 

“He is not fooled.” He sliced off another piece of the fruit. “Here.”

As she took I their fingers brushed together and heat jolted up his arm. Legolas cleared his throat and knelt to look at his horse’s front leg. He removed the bandage and checked the wound that had been inflicted by a boar while he had been hunting the previous week.

“How is he doing?” Dulinneth asked, kneeling on the straw beside him. 

“Nearly healed, thanks to your help.”

Dulinneth faced him, her smile soft and warmth lighting her eyes. “I was glad to.”

Legolas stared at her for a moment. So pretty. He blinked and stood, reaching for her hand. She took it without hesitation, and warmth once again seeped up his arm from the point of contact. He pulled her to her feet and as she stood her scent teased his nostrils, sandalwood and wildflowers. He wondered if that was her soap. If it was, he liked it. But there was another scent, even more appealing, something fresh and pure, like young leaves, and it seemed to seep into his veins, beckoning him, thrilling him. He had not noticed before, but he did now, and his leggings tightened just a little in the front. Horrified, he stepped back. This should not be happening. He should not have such feelings for her. She was Belegur’s daughter. He had given her rides on his back when she was small. 

Thankfully Dulinneth did not seem to notice. She had turned to pet Daeroch again as if nothing had happened. “You’re a beauty, aren’t you,” Dulinneth murmured, rubbing a hand down the horse’s neck. 

Legolas’ eyes followed her hand sliding down his horse’s neck, slowly, rhythmically. His breeches were starting to become uncomfortable, and he needed to adjust himself, but there was no way he could so without drawing attention to what he hoped to keep hidden from her. He closed his eyes instead, in an attempt to blot out the image of her caressing his horse.

“I owe you an apology, Your Highness, if you will accept it,” she said. “I did not mean to be rude earlier, ‘tis just. . .”

The change of topic threw him for a moment, but it served to distract him from Dulinneth’s petting of his horse and his body relaxed. Much to his relief. His eyes flew open and he stepped close again.

“You were not expecting to be told how to do your job,” he finished for her. “You were not rude, Dulinneth, and it is I who owe an apology. I shouldn’t have questioned your judgment. You are the healer, not I.”

“Thank you.” Dulinneth smiled, though she still wondered why he had reacted as he had. It really was not like him, but she dared not ask what had provoked him. “Is all ready for Princess Edraithel’s binding?” she asked instead.

“Yes, I believe so. And will you be there, or do you have duties in the House of Healing?”

She turned to look at him, her eyes meeting his. She shook her head. “No. I mean, yes, I’ll be there.”

Before he could move, Dulinneth stood on tiptoe and touched her lips to his just long enough for him to know that they were soft, and that she had eaten honey earlier. She stepped back, blushed, and hurried from the stable so swiftly that he could not say anything. 

Not that he could form any words at the moment, so the point meant little anyway. 

He pressed his lips together as he stared in the direction in which Dulinneth had fled. It must have been at least two decades since she had bestowed a kiss upon him, either to thank him for a gift, or simply in youthful exuberance. He did not remember any of those kisses feeling like this, however--innocent, yet inviting. Shy, yet eager. He sucked in a quick breath, his brow furrowing and his heart thudding rapidly. He had been kissed by many females in his life, from courtesans to house-maids and everything in between, yet none of those had left him as stunned as he felt just now. 

With a glance around to make certain he was alone, he adjusted himself as best he could. Target practice, he decided. That was what he needed. Target practice. 

 

Candor—Bold Brother  
Gilroch—Star Horse  
Daeroch—Shadow Horse


	5. Dance With Me

Legolas accepted a glass of wine, nodding his thanks to the servant who had produced it. His younger sister’s binding ceremony to the Silvan lieutenant, Malfinnon, had gone well. It had been an intimate exchange of vows, as Edraithel had wished, with only family and a few close friends and higher ranking officers in attendance. The feasting and dancing afterwards, however, was opened to all, and the large clearing before the keep now held a crowd of people.

He glanced toward Edraithel where she danced with her new husband. He had never seen her look happier, nor had he seen her glow more vibrant than it was today. He was glad for her. Glad for them both. It was a good match, he thought, and he was pleased that his father had approved of it. He smiled at her and raised his goblet in salute when she looked his way, but she turned again and only her new husband had her attention.

Legolas let his gaze sweep across the rest of the throng. It was a merry gathering indeed, with everyone from nobles to servants gathered to celebrate, and to partake of the abundant food and wine. He smiled to those he knew well and nodded to those he knew mostly by sight. 

His eyes stopped when they fell upon Dulinneth, and lingered there, his breath hitching slightly. He knew her, yet he did not. She was the same elleth he had known since she was a babe. And yet, she was not. True, he had noticed the changes in her over the years, especially recently, but somehow the full import of them had not registered with him as they did now. She had grown up. 

He watched as she smiled at something her friend said, her dimples showing as she did so. Legolas had always liked her smile; it brightened his mood whenever he saw it, for it was fresh and genuine, never false. And it never failed to make him want to smile too.

Yet tonight it seemed as different to him as everything else about her.

Her brown hair was artfully arranged in braids, which were swept up and held back to reveal the sides of her neck as well as her delicately shaped ears. Her green dress was tight against her breasts, accentuating them enough to make them evident without the effect being tawdry. The waist of it was snug against her body while the skirts draped over her hips, hanging in just the right way to show them off. He had always thought her pretty, but tonight. . . tonight she looked beautiful.

He narrowed his eyes as an ellon approached her. What he said Legolas could not hear, but the intent was plain enough when Dulinneth nodded and the two of them joined the couples moving in circles on the smoothed surface that was the dance area. Legolas frowned and his hand tightened on his goblet. Was it just him or was the other ellon holding her too close entirely? ‘Twas not proper!

Legolas’ instinct to protect her reared its head, and he had taken a step toward her, thinking to intercede on her behalf, when, gently but firmly, she maneuvered the other out of her proximity, reestablishing the proper dance form and her distance. Legolas smiled and relaxed a little. Perhaps she could handle herself after all. He had seen evidence of it already. He smiled as he thought of how she had looked at him in the House of Healing a few days before, her green eyes crackling with indignation as she had taken him to task for questioning her judgment and skill as a healer. No, no ellon was going to easily have his way with her, he decided.

Yet he could not quell the relief he felt when the dance was over and she returned to the sidelines, well away from the other ellon. It was short-lived however, for he was not the last of her potential dance partners. Almost as soon as she reached the edge of the dancing area, another ellon claimed her for a turn around it. And then another. And another.

At length she left her friend’s side and made her way through the crowd. Legolas handed his glass off to the first person passing near him, and he moved in her direction before he was even aware of the thought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dulinneth smiled at those she knew as she passed by them on her way to where her parents stood. She had left Merileth and Gorvion alone, for their own wedding was but a few days from now, and she did not wish to be a hindrance if they chose to stray from the festivities for any reason. 

She felt well about herself this night, and she was determined to enjoy it, even if Legolas had not done more than bid her a good evening so far. For once her fingers were not stained and she did not smell of healing herbs--at least not over-much. She had washed her hair until it shone, and her mother had helped her arrange it into this intricate style. Her new dress was tight across her chest, not so constricting as to make breathing impossible, but snug enough to show that she did indeed have breasts, the tops of which were just visible above the scooped neckline.

She sensed him before she saw him. The wild, exciting awareness that was both physical and soul deep welled up within her, causing a rush of air to escape her, and every inch of her body to tingle with anticipation and longing. She turned slowly in his direction, breathing in deeply in an unsuccessful effort to control the feeling, only to be nearly undone by his warm, masculine scent filling her nostrils. She began to tremble even more.

Ai, Valar, he looked more handsome than ever this evening. His deep blue ceremonial robes made his eyes seem darker and his hair seem more golden. It fell thick past his shoulders, the only thing holding it back from his face a mithril circlet. The intense pull she felt toward him always took her by surprise, no matter how much she had felt it before. It tugged her now a step closer. 

“Good evening again, Dulinneth.”

He smiled, a slight curve of lips upward, and Dulinneth’s heart caught at the sight of it. She managed a smile of her own as she curtsied to him. “Your Highness,” she murmured. “Good evening to you.”

“Are you enjoying yourself?” 

“Oh, yes,” she replied. “Very much, thank you.”

“I’m glad.” He wondered if he should ask her to dance, but perhaps she had had enough of the activity. 

“Would you—would you care to dance? With me?” Dulinneth asked, amazed at her own boldness. She wondered if it was the wine. The king’s stock of Dorwinion had been brought out for the occasion, and tonight she had had her first official glass of the potent beverage. She turned her gaze on the couples moving into the circle, however, so that she would not see his amusement when he refused her.

Legolas’ brows shot upward in surprise at the softly voiced request, but he found himself smiling and inclined his head toward her. “Thank you, yes. On one condition. You must call me Legolas, as you did when you were younger.”

“All right,” she agreed shyly. “Legolas.”

He tried to ignore the thrill of pleasure that went through him as she spoke his name and held out his hand to her. When Dulinneth placed hers in it, the heat that surged up his arm and spread through his body made him catch his breath. It took him a moment to compose himself, to act as if it had not affected him at all. “Shall we?”

They walked to the edge of the ring of dancers, hands linked. Dulinneth tried to not let her feelings show but it was difficult, and touching him had only increased them. And then they began to dance. Dulinneth could only follow his lead, for as close as they were, she was overwhelmed by his scent, by the heat of his body; she could not pay attention to the music or the moves she was supposed to follow at all. 

Three steps forward they moved, then they turned to face each other, both hands touching, palms together. They moved close. Paused. Stepped back. Walked backwards another three paces.

Dulinneth’s heart beat wildly and her body hummed with awareness of him. Surely he must hear it, must see her flushed skin, for she felt warm all over. He must feel her hands tremble as they pressed their palms against each other’s. Must feel them shake as his hand enclosed hers in a gentle grip. They faced again and her eyes met his. His expression was unreadable.

“Your sister looks beautiful,” she blurted.

His gaze left her face and skittered quickly down her front and back up again as they moved away from each other. He smiled. “You look lovely yourself.”

“Thank you. And so do you. I mean, not lovely, obviously, that would be silly. . . but you do look very. . .” She lowered her eyes and looked away, embarrassed. “. . . handsome.” 

Legolas grinned in delight at the compliment, more than pleased that she thought so. “Thank you.”

Dulinneth looked back up at him and answered his smile with her own. She found herself relaxing slightly. This was more than she had hoped for, dancing with Legolas, even if she had had to do the asking herself. It mattered not at the moment. The music was beautiful, lilting, now that she could hear it past her heartbeat. And Legolas was a wonderful dancer, as sure of himself as she had expected he might be; he led her easily through the movements. She relaxed even further and matched his graceful steps more easily, so they now moved as if they were one instead of two. 

She was vaguely aware that there were other couples on the floor, but they were as much a part of the background as the music. For Dulinneth was focused on him. She noted how his eyes reflected the surrounding torchlight, how his hair swayed slightly as he turned; she focused on the warmth of his hands as theirs touched, on the way his lips moved as he spoke. When their eyes met again she dropped hers to his robes, which were embroidered in a swirling pattern of oak and beech leaves; she had not noticed that earlier. All this she took in and stored away to remember later. And she would long remember this night, and this one and only dance she was now sharing with him, for surely there would not be another. 

Legolas glanced down again and felt his heart thump even harder against his ribcage as his eyes fastened on her lips. He remembered how they had felt, how they had tasted. Remembered the sharp jolt of pleasure that had seared him to his toes. He had not expected that, not from such a fleeting kiss. Nor had he expected the tremors that raced through his body now as he moved with her, as they touched hands. 

The dance ended, and Legolas found himself loath to let her go just yet. He wanted to dance with her again. A new song began, one that required a different sort of dancing, one where they stood much closer, and the movements were slower. Legolas swallowed, and his eyes searched hers. He had the sudden urge to kiss her. Really kiss her. But such a thing was impossible, here, on the dance floor. Only the newly-bound couple could get away with such an impropriety, and he was not about to maneuver Dulinneth into the shadowed woods beyond the scattered lamps in order to steal one either. Yet the need to teach her what kissing was all about refused to leave him. 

He turned abruptly, catching her hand and led her hastily to her parents’ table. He immediately missed the warmth of her hand when he released it, but he ignored the sense of loss he felt. Distance was what he needed now, before he did something foolish. He nodded to her parents, bowed to Dulinneth, and smiled. 

“It was a pleasure, Dulinneth. Thank you.” He hurried away, snagging a glass of wine as he moved back across the clearing.

Dulinneth sat down weakly and accepted a goblet of wine from a passing servant with a shaky hand. The drink did nothing to soothe her shattered feelings. 

“What was that all about?” her mother asked, inclining her head toward the prince.

“I don’t know,” Dulinneth replied, her gaze pensive as she watched him. 

He had seemed to enjoy the dance, she thought, but then he had dragged her off the floor, deposited her with her parents, and hurried away as if he could not wait to be rid of her. She told herself she should be pleased he had danced with her at all, and she was, but that did not change the other feelings. She wondered if she had done anything or said anything that she should not. Perhaps he had only danced with her out of politeness after all. 

Two more young warriors asked her to dance, but she declined, claiming fatigue. She watched as Legolas danced with two other ellith, her eyes narrowing and her hands clenching in impotent fury as each woman in turn flirted with him. 

“Come daughter, let’s dance,” Belegur said, rising and drawing her reluctantly after him as a new song began to play. 

It was a lively number, but she knew it well. By the time the dance ended and they started for the sidelines, Dulinneth was laughing, her pique over Legolas’ behavior put aside. Her good humor fled abruptly, however, upon seeing the warrior, Candor, talking with her mother. He had gone away with the wrong idea about her feelings after all. She suppressed a sigh as he greeted her and her father. 

“Good evening, Captain Belegur.” He turned to Dulinneth, his eyes lingering. “And. . .”

“Our daughter, Dulinneth,” Belegur informed him.

“Yes, we met briefly in the healing house,” Candor said. “Do you remember, my Lady?”

Dulinneth nodded. “I do. And how is your arm?” she asked politely.

Candor smiled. “Healed completely, I’m happy to say. Master Haerelon removed the stitches only this morning.”

“Won’t you join us?” Galuves offered. 

“I’d be delighted,” the warrior said. “But I wonder if I might beg a dance of your daughter first?”

“I would love to,” Dulinneth answered automatically.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Across the grounds Legolas glared. Dulinneth was dancing with Candor now, and she seemed to be enjoying herself. It made Legolas recall with a grimace the way they had sat close together in the House of Healing. Did Dulinneth like him? What did she see in him? His smile was too. . . too easy, Legolas decided finally. And he was too easy with his affections. Legolas did not trust him. 

Legolas watched the young warrior lead Dulinneth back to her parents after the dance and his frown deepened. The whelp intended to stay there. And as if that were not bad enough more warriors began to gravitate toward Belegur’s table as well, and it was clear to Legolas that they were not there to discuss fighting techniques. Soon there were a half dozen of them, all doing their best to get close to Dulinneth. 

“You’re going to sour your wine.” 

His mother’s amused voice made Legolas draw his eyes away from Dulinneth to glance at her instead. 

“Is that scowl for Dulinneth or for those young men beside her?”

He shook his head slightly and huffed out a breath. “Look at them, like wolves circling.” His eyes narrowed again as he beheld Candor leaning close to her once more, saying something meant for her ears alone. “And Belegur does nothing.” 

“Why should he, unless one of them makes an inappropriate suggestion?” Faeldis said in a low voice. “She is of age, intelligent, and quite pretty. Surely you’ve noticed?”

 _I’ve noticed._ He studied Dulinneth yet again, his gaze re-tracing where it had already lingered more than once this night, on her sparkling eyes, on her flushed cheeks. On her slender figure. Yes, he had noticed.

“I can imagine soon her father will have half a dozen petitions to court her, if he does not already,” Faeldis went on, ignoring his silence. “And I daresay others will make their cases to her directly. You had better become accustomed to it.”

Legolas’ hand tightened again on his goblet and that sharp, painful twisting in his gut returned. His body felt tense, coiled, as it did before battle. He tore his gaze from Dulinneth again to look at his mother. “She is so young,” he said, his voice harsher than he had intended. He frowned again. “I would not see her hurt.”

“Then don’t hurt her.” Faeldis smiled and patted his arm. “Now excuse me, dear. Your father needs to dance with me.” 

And then she was walking away, leaving Legolas standing there puzzled by her remarks. What did she mean by that? He would never hurt Dulinneth. His gaze drifted back to where she sat, surrounded by males. And no wonder. She was everything an elleth should be, everything his mother had said she was, and more. He could not blame them, he was drawn to her himself, but that did not mean he had to like it either. Not when he wanted another dance with her. 

Slowly, never taking his eyes from her, he set his goblet down on a nearby table and moved in her direction, worming his way through the throng of hopeful ellyn until he reached her. 

“Lady Dulinneth, would you do me the honor?” he asked

 

Malfinnon—Gold Haired  
Faeldis—Generous Bride


	6. Fallen Leaf

They said that going away to battle was hard, frightening, for those who went. Dulinneth did not doubt that it was. But she knew that being left behind was the real hardship, the real source of fear. Waiting for news of loved ones, waiting for their return, that was the truly daunting part. Yes, the warriors were brave, and she admired them for what they did, but they were aware of what was happening to them. Their worries were immediately confirmed or not. But staying home and wondering, always wondering, what was taking place, going about one’s days as if everything was the same as usual, took more courage still. Dulinneth marveled how her mother and the other women managed to carry on in the face of such uncertainty. Did it become easier over the centuries to watch a loved one leave, never knowing if he would return or not?

Dulinneth raised her eyes from her embroidery to look at her mother once again. Galuves was calmly sewing, no trace of concern on her face. As she had the last few times she had checked, Dulinneth breathed out in relief. If her mother was not worried, all was well, at least with her father. She could only hope that meant all was well with Legolas also. 

It had only been a few days since they had ridden out with a small troop of warriors to hunt the huge spiders that plagued their land, but for Dulinneth the time seemed longer, and the waiting had become unbearable. She knew Legolas was brave, and skilled, in battle, but that did not stop her from worrying about him. She had watched him ride away so many times over the years, but now was the hardest of all.

She loved him so. She always had, of course, but this was not the hero worship of a child for a great warrior, nor was it the tender infatuation of an adolescent for one who set her pulse racing with his comeliness. These feelings were so much deeper than those. It was true they had begun that way, but they had grown and matured over the years, as she herself had, lodging in her heart so completely she knew she would never want another, never be able to even look at or think of another, in the same way she did Legolas. Yes, she still thought him the most handsome male in the land, and yes, her body reacted to his presence in ways that made her blush to think of sometimes. But that was only part of it. She knew now that this ache she felt was more than physical; it was her soul yearning for his. Only then would it be complete. 

She looked back down at her embroidery and frowned at the mess she had made of it. There were some stitches too tight, some that were too loose, and some that were supposed to be one color but were worked in the wrong thread entirely. There was no choice but to re-do the entire thing. 

Slowly she began to pick the stitches out and when it was done she put her embroidery away and went outside to stare into the trees, listening for any sign of discord among them. All was quiet. Dulinneth sighed in relief again, shaking her head over her fears and tried to think of something else. Anything else. But it was no use. She could not concentrate tonight any more than she had been able to since Legolas had been gone. All she could do was think of him. Worry about him. 

What was he doing now? Did he sleep? Or did he stand guard so that others might? Had he eaten enough? Was he comfortable? Or as comfortable as one could be in the field? 

Did he think of her?

She shook her head. Of course not. Why should he? To him she was still a child. And yet. . . the way he had looked at her before he had ridden out with the others, his eyes warm yet intense in their scrutiny, gave her hope that he had at least seen her as she wanted him to. A sigh escaped her lips. No doubt it meant nothing. She was probably reading more into it than there was. That was it. She had adored him for so long she was now seeing things that were not there. Things she wished were there, but weren’t. 

But it did not matter, what he felt or did not feel, so long as he returned whole. That would be enough, and it was truly all she asked. All anyone in love with a warrior could ask.

“Eru keep you safe, Legolas,” she whispered. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night was still. 

Legolas leaned back against the tree trunk and watched the tiny camp fire flickering in the darkness. Tomorrow would not be as peaceful as this night. Tomorrow they would reach the spiders’ main grounds. He had already done his turn at the watch, as was his habit, and should have been resting, preparing himself mentally for the battle that would come. 

His weapons were ready. His arrows had been checked half a dozen times, the fletching secured, the tips sharpened. His blades were honed to a keen edge. There was nothing to do but wait out the night and travel to the spiders’ dens, and there they would kill all they could, to keep the land as clean as possible of their pestilence. To keep their loved ones safe. 

Unbidden, his thoughts strayed to Dulinneth, as they did so often these days, even when, as now, he tried to stop them. Where was she? What did she do? He imagined she might be sewing or some such, or perhaps working in the House of Healing. Or perhaps she was already asleep, her hair spread out upon soft pillows as she lay in her bed. His groin tightened and he wrenched his mind from that picture with a frown. Now was not the time for that. Yet he could not help it either.

He was thinking of her more and more in such a manner since his sister’s binding ceremony, when he had danced with her. How he had enjoyed that, moving with her, touching her, even in the most innocent of ways. He had tried to keep himself at a distance since then, mainly to give himself time to become accustomed to his growing awareness of her as a woman. To his attraction to her. 

And he was attracted to her; it did no good trying to deny it, and he was not certain he wanted to anyway. He found everything about her appealing. The sight of her was enough to set his heart racing now, and when he did happen to meet her, her scent had him wanting to bury his face in her hair, while her voice sent warm sensations up his spine. She was kind and generous, and, he thought with a slight smile, spirited too. She had a vibrant aura that he could get lost in, if he let himself. It would be so easy. . .

He felt Belegur’s presence and looked up as the older man crouched down beside him. Resolutely he yanked his thoughts back to the present situation and away from the man’s daughter.

“The camp is secure,” Belegur said, “and the men are eager for battle.”

“We will strike our foes hard,” Legolas replied. “Yet I hope the younger men are not just eager, but ready.”

“We won’t know until we’re in the thick of it.”

“True enough,” Legolas agreed. He looked at his mentor again. The older male had taken out the lock of his wife’s hair that he kept with him and now stroked it absently with his thumb. Legolas had seen him do it many times before battle. He wondered if it calmed him or if it was just a way of reinforcing the connection between Belegur and his wife. Legolas smiled as he nodded to it now, and the question was out before he could stop it: “Your family is well at home?”

“Yes, very well. They suffer no danger.”

“Good,” Legolas answered. “I’m glad of it.” He was silent for a moment, then, “I would give anything to see this darkness in our lands gone, Belegur.”

Beside him Belegur nodded. “I know. And so would we all. I pray that Dulinneth will see a time of peace in Arda.”

“I hope so too,” Legolas answered quietly. More than anything he wanted that for her. For the children she might one day have. 

“Well,” Belegur said, rising and clapping him on the shoulder, “I’ve kept you from your rest long enough, I think.” 

Legolas said nothing as Dulinneth’s father walked away. But his thoughts returned to her as he settled back to rest again, and watched the remainder of the camp do the same. 

Reverie, when it came, took him into dreams of warm, moss green eyes, and he smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

 

“Behind you!” 

Legolas whirled and loosed an arrow into the beast as it charged him. It was his last.

He heard someone shout, “Duck!” and glanced to his left to see a spider struck down by a volley of arrows as it charged one of his men. 

They had marched from their camp to the spiders’ den at dawn. The attack had been precise, efficient, but it had rapidly turned into a melee, with Elves and spiders battling frantically for the upper hand. 

Leaping atop and running across a fallen creature, Legolas drew his knife and slashed another spider. There were so many of them. More than last time. How could there be more when his people constantly hunted them? He had no time to think on the answer. He was just glad none of his men had been hurt or killed.

One of the younger warriors froze as a particularly large arachnid moved toward him, its eyes bulging and fangs raised. He knew how the man felt; a first hunt was frightening. But there was no other way to learn. And there was no time for sympathy or coddling. Out here in the wild it could get someone killed.

“Get hold of yourself!” he barked as he moved toward him. “Shoot the damn thing!” 

The warrior nocked an arrow and let it fly. It hit the spider and bounced away. 

“Fuck!” Legolas ran now and threw himself between the youngster and the spider. He could feel the air stirring around him from its legs and the hot, foul breath from its mouth as it reared up to strike. 

He swiped a blade across the spider’s belly. The beast was so big he doubted he had wounded it enough to stop it. It dropped down again, shaking its head, a hiss of pain and rage coming from its mouth. Legolas drew his other knife and waited. One chance. He had but one chance. The spider rose up again, evil and threatening, venom dripping from its fangs. Legolas raised his own knives and struck. 

He heard Belegur shouting from somewhere to his left. He felt fangs sink into his shoulders, the venom seep into his veins, fiery hot, then icy cold. He plunged his blades deeper into the spider with all his strength, and as he sank to his knees he watched the beast crumple before him. And then his vision blurred. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

 

“The prince! The prince is wounded!”

The shout from the treetops made Dulinneth halt in her journey from the House of Healing to her talan for the night. Around her the compound began to buzz with activity, but she could not move. Her mind could not even comprehend what she had heard. It was a mistake. It had to be. Legolas was never hurt. Ever. 

She turned her head to the left as the thunder of horse hooves sounded loud in her ears. Her father’s horse charged into view, and she saw Legolas then. The prince was draped across the horse in front of Belegur, his body limp. Dulinneth’s heart and lungs seemed to shrink in on themselves before plummeting into her stomach. She could not breathe. Tears sprang to her eyes as she raised them to her father’s face. Belegur’s expression was grim. She could read nothing other than that.

“Ada?”

“He lives,” Belegur told her.

Dulinneth watched, numb, unable to feel relief that Legolas was yet alive, as her father leapt down and dragged Legolas off the horse. He started to head for the House of Healing, the prince in his arms.

“What happened?”

It was the king, who had just arrived and now stood behind Dulinneth. She could not answer, could not offer even the slightest bit of acknowledgment that he was there other than to look at him. Beside him stood his queen. They were both pale.

“He was bitten,” Belegur told them, not pausing in his steps. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I got him back as quickly as I could.”

“My son. . .” Faeldis’ voice trailed off. 

At last Dulinneth managed to unglue her feet from the spot where they had been stuck and ran after her father and his precious burden. She opened the door for him and stood aside as the king and queen rushed past her too. She hurried into the House of Healing behind them, heart now in her throat. 

Legolas was already laid out when she got there, and she stood against the wall, staring at him helplessly. His skin was gray as death. His eyes were sunken, glazed over as in reverie. For the first time since she had begun it, all her training as a healer deserted her, and panic rose up inside her, swirled around her, choked her from within and without. This was not just any warrior who lay stricken on the table. This was Legolas. Her prince. The man she loved with all her being. Dulinneth began to shake all over, and the tears that had been threatening now spilled from her eyes, wetting her cheeks. Her breath came erratically, as if she had run a long distance. What if it was too late? What if he died? 

“Pull yourself together or get out,” the Master Healer snapped, sparing her a glance as he began removing the prince’s belt and tunic. “He needs medicine, not weeping.”

Dulinneth nodded and drew in a several deep gulps of air. Legolas needed her. “Aye,” she said. “I’m coming.” 

She hurried forth and unlaced Legolas’ wrist braces and laid them aside on the supply stand. Next she grabbed a pair of shears and began snipping away at the seams of his tunic. She helped Haerelon peel it away until it hung at his shoulders. Blood had clotted around each puncture wound, holding the fibers of his shirt fast against them. 

Dulinneth blanched again at the sight, but she pressed her lips together. She must be strong, must remember everything she had learned so far. For him. She would not give in to the fear that threatened to rise up and choke her any moment. With warm water and cloths provided by a servant, she and the Master Healer carefully soaked the congealed matter to soften it, and together they slowly removed the rest of the prince’s shirt.

Dulinneth stared at the wounds before raising her eyes to meet Haerelon’s sober gaze. Neither said anything. After a moment’s tense silence, she glanced surreptitiously at the king and queen and her father, then looked back down at Legolas.

“What is it?” Thranduil asked. “How bad is it?”

“Sire, I think you and Her Majesty will be more comfortable in the next room,” Haerelon said. “Dulinneth will show you.” 

“I’ll not be bundled off like some vagabond. This is my son,” Thranduil growled.

“He’s my son too, dear,” Faeldis said quietly. “We’ll only be in the way. Let’s go with her and let Master Haerelon do his job.”

“If—If you please, Your Majesties. . .” Dulinneth offered, waiting for them to precede her through the door. She moved to another one and opened it before quickly lighting candles. “As Master Haerelon says, you’ll be comfortable here.” She paused, swallowed. “Can I get you anything before I go?”

“No, thank you, Dulinneth,” the queen replied, taking a seat and drawing the king toward the chair beside her. 

Dulinneth smiled wanly and curtsied. She left the room, her last sight as she closed the door the two of them leaning onto each other for support. She knew the feeling well. Her father was standing outside the door of the room and she went to him, accepting his warm embrace, fighting the urge to cry when it swept over her again.

“I know,” Belegur murmured, stroking her hair affectionately as he released her. 

Dulinneth nodded, unable to speak, and hurried back into the room. The Master Healer looked up as she entered and moved back to the table where Legolas lay. 

“Are you ready?” Haerelon asked Dulinneth.

Her voice was soft, but sure. “I’m ready.” 

“Good.” The Master Healer looked down again. “He’s going to need all the help we can give him. I’ve never seen such a nasty bite.”


	7. Healing

Dulinneth swallowed and looked back again at the wounds on Legolas’ shoulders, scarlet, swollen, ribbons of red leading away from them. Pale scabs covered each where the skin was already trying to heal itself, but thick, greenish fluid oozed out from the sores where they had peeled his shirt away. Nasty indeed. The wounds were not only large and deep, they were infected.

“I’ll need to open these.”

Nodding, Dulinneth quickly washed her hands and set to work sterilizing the instruments the Master Healer would need. She poured antiseptic fluid into a clean basin and set the sharp scalpels in it before carefully removing them and placing them on a clean dry cloth-covered tray. She held the items out for his inspection.

Master Haerelon took one of the finely honed instruments and made tiny incisions in the wounds on Legolas’ shoulders. Dulinneth gripped the tray even more tightly in an effort to hold it steady and not drop it when the blade sliced into Legolas’ flesh. Yet she could not help flinching, though she chided herself for it. She was used to this. Should be used to it, anyway, she reminded herself. But no matter how much she tried to distance herself and not feel for him, she was unable to do so. She wanted to be holding his hand and comforting him, whether he knew she was there or not, whether he felt the blade piercing his skin or not. 

More fluid trickled out as the Healer worked to remove the layers of pus and dried blood. Dulinneth breathed a sigh of relief when bright red liquid spilled from the wounds.

“Make a poultice and cover his wounds,” the Master Healer ordered. “I’m going to see what I can do. . .” His voice trailed off as he began moving his hands over Legolas’ torso, his attention and energy focused intently on drawing the toxins to the surface of the prince’s body.

Dulinneth hurried to do as she was bid, grabbing the necessary ingredients and mixing them together. She was glad to have something to do other than stand by and watch. Now there was no idle mind to worry over Legolas’ condition; she had to concentrate on the right amounts of herbs and liquid to make a paste. That done, she moved to apply it, carefully spreading the concoction over the wounds, forcing herself to forget everything else but what needed to be done.

The healer was still working by the time she had finished applying the salve and covered the lesions with gauze. Dulinneth washed her hands, and turned back to watch as he continued his treatment. She moved to the other side of the table and watched anxiously.

She did not know how much time had passed when the Master Healer looked up at last, his somber eyes meeting hers. “Let’s get something in him to force the poison out.”

Dulinneth quickly flew to a shelf to grab a bottle and then to fetch a glass of water. While the Master Healer mixed the drink, she put her arm beneath Legolas’ shoulders and raised him enough that Haerelon could get the medicine in his mouth and force him to swallow it. When that was done she lowered him back down onto the table and looked up at the healer again. 

“Get a bed ready for him, Dulinneth. I’ll bring him along in a moment.”

She nodded and left the room. There was a chamber just down the corridor, a bit larger than the others and more private, and she assumed that was where Master Haerelon would wish to bring Legolas. But first she stopped at the linen cupboard and stared blindly at it as if she had never seen it before. Another shuddery breath escaped her, but she shook her head. No. No more tears. Later she could cry, but not now. Resolute, she began pulling out sheets and a blanket, blinking her eyes in an effort to clear them. 

A hand on her shoulder made her swallow and she turned. She was startled to see the queen there.

“I’ll help you,” Legolas’ mother offered. “I must do something.”

Dulinneth’s heart went out to her even more than it already had. As upsetting as Legolas’ injuries were to her, it must be doubly so for the one who had given birth to him. She could not refuse the offer. “Thank you,” she murmured. 

She walked with the queen to where Legolas would be brought and hurried to light candles. Together she and the queen made the bed, saying little as they worked. By the time the blanket was in place and the pillows fluffed, the king himself carried his son into the room and laid him upon the bed. It seemed he must have something to do as well, and Dulinneth realized suddenly how she had never seen them as Legolas’ father and mother, not really; they had always been the king and queen in her eyes. But here they were, as worried for their son as her own parents would be for her. 

Once they had Legolas on the bed and had peeled off his boots and leggings, Dulinneth drew the covers up over him, her hands trembling as she smoothed them into place. When she straightened, she found the queen watching her intently. Dulinneth lowered her gaze before hurrying away to fetch cloths for washing, water, and several bedpans, just in case. These she set near the bed and stood waiting as the Master Healer once more urged the king and queen to the other room.

“You had best go on home too,” the healer said, when Thranduil and his queen had left. “There’s nothing you can do now. Nothing any of us can do but wait.”

“I can help,” Dulinneth insisted. She would beg to stay if that was what it took. “I can wash the bedpans and clean him too, and--.”

“Very well, then,” the Master Healer relented. “You may stay. But you must be prepared for anything, even his death.” He looked down at the prince again. “And so must we all.” 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

He was shaking again.

Dulinneth felt the scorching heat even before she touched his forehead with her palm, letting her hand linger there just a heartbeat longer than necessary before she moved it away again. The fever raged. From the stand nearby, she took a cloth and dipped it into the basin of cool water. Slowly she bathed his face, his throat. 

It made him shiver more, so she pulled the blanket back up over him to ward off further chills, smoothing it into place, and tucking it beneath him as well as she could so that he could not kick it off.

She reached for his nearest hand and held it gently with her own, smoothing damp and matted hair back away from his face with her other. 

“Rest easy, Legolas,” she murmured. 

That seemed to calm him, and she was glad. She hated seeing him like this, weak and helpless. She had never imagined that he could be so, that he could be vulnerable to injuries in the same way other warriors were. Tears sprang to her eyes again. Her father had brought him home as quickly as he could but that had still meant two days for the venom to work its way through his body. 

They had done what they could for him last evening, watching over him as he tossed and turned, sometimes alternating between vomiting and murmuring in his sleep. Now it was morning and Dulinneth was charged with watching over him while Master Haerelon spoke with the king and queen. Dulinneth carefully peeled away the bandages now and examined the wounds. They were not as red and swollen as the night before, but they were not yet healed either. She washed away the remnants of the poultice she had applied and prepared another, smoothing it onto his skin and then covering it all with fresh cloths. 

She started when Legolas rolled to his side, his body one long heaving spasm. Dulinneth grabbed the bedpan and held it beneath his head just in time for him to disgorge the dark fluid from his stomach into it. She set it carefully out of the way, ignoring the stench, and eased him as best she could onto his back again before washing his face once more.

“There now,” she murmured. “I’ll be back soon.” She made to move away to empty the pan and wash it out, but her hand was caught fast in a strong grip. Dulinneth closed her fingers over his and squeezed, wishing that his need for her was more than a wounded warrior wanting comfort.

“I’ll stay. Just a moment longer,” she promised. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

There were spiders everywhere. The forest was filled with them. So many. . . . They surrounded Dulinneth, and he could not get to her. Panic filled him. He would never reach her in time. The huge beasts fell one by one as his arrows pierced them, but he was running out of them, just as he had before. And then the huge spider reared up to strike her, and he ran between them, to sacrifice himself for her if need be. Knives flashing, he felled the beast, but as he turned to help Dulinneth to her feet he felt its bite. He dropped to his knees, the poison numbing his limbs, his vision. It was too late. There was something he had to tell her, and it was too late. . . He would never see her again.

He was hot, then cold. He tried to move, tried to seek warmth then get away from it, but he no longer had control over his limbs. Why? Why couldn’t he move them as he wanted? A soft hand touched his brow, brushing his hair back. Hands. He remembered hands. They had been touching him before, impersonal hands. They had imparted strength and healing, and heat like fire, but that was all. There was nothing that made him want to grasp those hands and cling to them. 

This was different, a different touch, a different kind of heat. It was warm, soothing. Not hurtful. And there was light. He turned instinctively toward it, seeking what the touch offered. A voice came through the haze of pain and ice and heat that flooded his body in turns, a gentle voice that he knew.

He tried to speak her name, but he could not. Instead he caught her hand, held it tightly just to reassure himself that she was alive. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Queen Faeldis watched silently from the doorway. If the young healer sensed her presence she gave no indication of it. All her attention was on her charge, as it should be, though, if her guess was right, it was more than a healer’s duty to a patient that had Dulinneth so caught up in Legolas’ care. She had suspected last night, but now she knew for certain. 

The young healer was in love with him.

The queen smiled to herself as she watched Dulinneth gently tend to her son. There was no question of her feelings for him. The lingering touches, the concern in her voice as she spoke quietly to him, told her as much as any spoken confession. Faeldis was glad. More glad than she could say. For like her husband, she had been worried that Legolas had not yet found his life’s mate, and lately she had begun to wonder if he ever would. Now she understood why he had not done so before. It had not yet been time. 

For Legolas loved her back. Faeldis was certain of it. Their dances, and the eager way Legolas had followed the girl with his eyes-not to mention the jealousy on his face and in his voice-at Edraithel’s wedding feast had given Faeldis hope. Her son’s love for Dulinneth had been plain to her then, even if he was unaware of it himself. But matters of the heart could confound even the wisest, in her opinion. Perhaps a little nudge in the right direction would not hurt. 

Faeldis observed them a moment more before quietly retreating. She would give them some time alone, understanding that even if Legolas was not awake, he sensed Dulinneth was there with him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“His wounds are healing well,” Master Haerelon announced early the next morning after examining Legolas’ shoulders. “Give him a bath and change his sheets.” 

Dulinneth blinked at the Master Healer’s words. A bath? She was to give Legolas a bath? Her mind whirled. She was not sure she could do it, even if she was accustomed to bathing patients of both sexes. He was nude. . . She would have to. . . Never in all her fantasies about him had she thought of giving him a bath.

“Aye,” she managed to acknowledge the order, glancing down at the prince where he lay. His hair was matted even more, and his face and throat had been streaked with grime before she had washed them earlier. She knew little of the life of a warrior, but she doubted he had had much chance to bathe before he had been injured. It would make him more comfortable, being clean, and that was part of her duties. All she had to do was treat him as she would any other patient.

She could do that.

She hurried to fill a pot with water and set it on the hearth to heat, then moved to a shelf to gather towels and a washing cloth. Next to them she placed a bar of soap and waited until small bubbles began to rise to the surface of the water. She poured the hot water into a pan and mixed cold with it so that it would not burn him. When all was ready she moved back to Legolas’ bed and placed the items on a table behind him, drawing a deep breath to steady herself.

She would wash his hair first. That was easy enough. She untied the tiny strips that held his braids together at the ends and slowly unraveled the strands, trembling fingers sliding through to the ends until each plait was smoothed out. That done, she moved around him and leaned down to lift his shoulders off the pillow and cradled him against her with one arm while she laid a towel beneath him with the other. Dulinneth closed her eyes, a shudder of longing running through her slender frame. The way his arm was draped over her shoulder, the way his head rested next to hers, it was almost as if he were holding her back. If only it were so; she would never ask for anything again. 

After a moment Dulinneth opened her eyes and dipped her cupped hand into the warm water and carefully wet his scalp before reaching for the bar of soap. Now she worked it into a lather and lifted her hands to his head. Gently, she massaged the suds over his head, working her fingers through the roots of his hair, thoroughly cleansing every part. When it was washed, she rinsed the soap out, dripping water over his scalp until no residue remained, then reluctantly lowered Legolas back onto the bed, her breathing shaky, her nipples taut beneath her dress and apron from the contact.

She drew his hair over the edge of the bed until the ends touched the bottom of the water basin. And dipped both hands into the water, raised them, and let the water fall over the long strands. She took up the soap again and lathered it between her palms. With another calming breath, she began to wash the rest of his hair, sifting her fingers through each wet section with hands that quivered more with each passing heartbeat. She rinsed the rest of his hair and drew it out of the water to towel it dry before working a comb through the golden mass, tenderly loosing the snarls she had made. When she had finished, Dulinneth gripped the side of the bed, amazed that she was still able to stand after that, and she had yet to bathe him.

She focused first on heating more water and then, when she could delay no longer, she took the fresh pan back and set it on the bedside table. Wetting the cloth and soaping it, she washed his face and neck, his ears then she rolled him to his side and lifted his hair to wash the nape. She eased him back on the bed and then drew the sheet away from his upper body. 

Dulinneth swallowed back a gasp, her professionalism scattering away like leaves in a gust of wind. She had been too distraught to notice when he had been brought in for healing, but now there were no such distractions to keep her from noticing: Legolas far surpassed anything in appearance she had ever imagined. She had seen his arms bared, of course, but never his chest, his abdomen. She released a shaky breath and tried not to stare, but merciful Eru, he was so. . . beautiful. There was no other word for it. His chest was broad, like his shoulders, his abdomen lean, and every muscle was defined and toned. There were only a few faint scars here and there, testament to his life as a warrior, but they only seemed to add to his appeal. 

She could look at him forever.

“Bathe,” she whispered, doing her best to ignore the tingling in her body. “Just bathe him. He’s no different than any other patient.” 

With an effort she forced herself to dip the cloth into the basin of water, wring it out, and soap it. Trembling, she leaned close and moved the cloth over his left shoulder, then down his arm, to his hand, to his fingers, in long, caressing strokes. His skin was soft to the touch, softer than she would have thought, but the muscle beneath was firm. How would it feel to be held close by him? To feel his hard strength pressing her down beneath him?

Trembling even more now at the thought of such an unlikely event, Dulinneth moved around the bed to wash his right shoulder and arm. When they were clean, she turned her attention to his chest. She blushed as his nipples peaked when she traced the cloth over them. She washed his ridged abdomen next, her hands shaking now as they moved closer and closer to the sheet that covered his lower body. Reluctantly she drew the cloth away, dumped it into the water and rinsed it clean of soap before squeezing the water from it and then rinsing Legolas’ torso and arms. She then lathered more soap onto the cloth, rolled him toward her and washed his back, unable to stop herself imagining lying next to him, her hands stroking his back as he held her, kissed her. . . 

Dulinneth closed her eyes, shook her head. She eased him down, rinsed the cloth, leaned close again and pulled him toward her to rinse. Then she took a towel and slowly dried him. At last she settled him back onto the bed and dropped the cloth into the water. Then she paused and bit her lower lip and eyed the sheet, her heart pounding. And now she had to bathe the most intimate parts of him. She closed her eyes again. Perhaps his legs first. She nodded. Yes, she would wash his legs, give herself time to get herself together. She drew the sheet up and settled it over his hips and took the cloth from the water and soaped it again and moved to wash his legs. They were long and leanly muscled too, beautifully formed. Was there a part of him that was not, she wondered, and then felt herself heat all over at the thought and where it immediately led, back beneath the linens. 

“Legs,” she said aloud. Those were nice and distracting from. . . other thoughts. She took her time, lovingly washing them, from his insteps, over his feet, his strong calves, to his hard thighs, wondering how his limbs would feel, entwined with her own. She bit her lip again. Perhaps not so distracting after all, she decided, as she straightened up to rinse the cloth again. She took her time drying his legs, until she could no longer delay. 

Dulinneth pressed her lips together and counted slowly to three. She drew the sheet away, and this time she did gasp aloud. Her eyes flew to his face. No, she had not awakened him. She let them travel lower again, took in his body in all its beauty. She stared. She blushed. Reminded herself to breathe. Her fantasies about him had always stopped with him shirtless. She had never thought how he might look completely nude. But she knew now that if she had, once again, her imagination would have been woefully inadequate. 

She drew another deep breath, then covered Legolas again with the sheet, leaving his lower half bare. This time she could not stop her hands from shaking at all when she soaped the cloth. She hesitated a heartbeat and then another when it was time to touch him. Could she do this? Of course she could, she told herself. She loved him too much to deny him cleanliness here out of mortification. But ai, it was not going to be easy. Dulinneth glanced downward again and back up. “Just do it,” she murmured. “Bathe him.”

She bit her lip again and began to wash his lean hips, taking her time as she moved the cloth inexorably closer to the part of him that both intrigued her and embarrassed her. Holding her breath now, her hands shaking, she reached for his penis and slid the cloth over it and the heavy sac beneath. She did not linger as she touched him now, even if a part of her wanted to. But the greater part of her felt intrusive, for this was an intimacy with him she had never anticipated, and she felt as if she were taking advantage of his illness somehow. She felt as if she were invading his privacy when he could not protest. Especially when she rolled him toward her and bathed his taut buttocks and the cleft between them. 

When that was done she rinsed and dried him, then eased him onto his back again, unable to resist one final look at him before she covered him. He was absolute perfection in every way—kind, gentle, intelligent, a fierce protector of their home, with the body of a Vala as well. Ai, he was everything a woman could want. Certainly all that she could ever want. Why he was yet unbound she could not understand, and she wondered at the judgment of the older ellith in Mirkwood. 

She sighed and went to empty the dirty water and set the pan aside to clean later. After a side trip to the linen cupboard, she moved to the bed and efficiently changed the sheets, all the while doing her best to keep Legolas comfortable. He slept on, oblivious. 

Dulinneth glanced around, delicately brushed the backs of her fingers over a cheekbone, then she bent her head and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. She drew back, peeked around again, then hurried from the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Legolas slowly awakened, forcing his mind to consciousness. He blinked his eyes as he tried to focus them. Something was wrong. Usually he was alert immediately, but now he felt sluggish and weak. As if he had been drugged or poisoned. Or both. He swallowed, but his mouth was as dry as his throat. There was no relief there.

At last he could make out the ceiling of the room he was in. It was not his own. The scents of healing herbs came to him when he breathed in more deeply and then he knew. He was in the House of Healing. Memories flooded back, of the battle, of the spider’s fangs spearing him. That explained why he was here. By the sound of things he was alone. No one was here except him. Not Haerelon, or his parents. Not Dulinneth. 

His mind focused on her and refused to leave. He wanted her here most of all, though he did not understand why, and he frowned at the empty chairs when he looked around. Where was she? With a sigh, Legolas chided himself for his selfish thoughts. No doubt she had others to attend to, he told himself. Were any of them his men? He had no idea if anyone had been wounded after he had been, but he would find out. 

But he was too tired still, and he drifted back into sleep.


	8. A Sudden Understanding

Something awakened him again. He could not say what it was right away, only that it was pleasant, comforting. Then it came again from his right. Low snatches of an old tune, the notes slowly growing louder as the person drew nearer. Legolas recognized her voice, and the shining aura that emanated from her being, and his heart began to beat faster. She was here. 

Dulinneth.

Legolas started to let her know he was awake but something stopped him. He liked watching her move; she was so graceful, like a doe. Still pretending to sleep, he turned his head ever so slightly and found his gaze upon her trim backside, a soft fall of curls resting just above it, partially obscuring her slender waist. She was at one of the room’s windows, reaching for the heavy curtains, but she paused to look back at the bed. He held himself very still and waited. To his relief, she returned to her task, drawing the cloth back and raising the window just a bit, letting fresh air into the room. She turned again and walked to his side, touching the palm of her hand to his brow. 

“I know you can’t hear me, but good morning,” she murmured. 

She drew her hand away, and Legolas thought she might leave, but instead she moved slowly about the bed, tucking the sheets more beneath the mattress and readjusting his blanket. He fought to remain still, but when her hand slipped over his arm heat spiraled up across his skin and began to spread through his body. And when she raised his shoulders to fluff his pillows and he found his face almost in her bosom, it was all he could do to not react. Valar, her breasts felt nice. Soft. The urge to cup them, see if they felt as good in his hands as they did where they brushed against him, nearly overwhelmed him. He had noticed them, oh yes, he could not help but take note of their gentle curves beneath her dresses. Now to have them pressed nearly against him was exquisite torment. 

He tried to focus on something else, but her scent, so subtle, so enticing, filled his nostrils, and he remembered the first time he had really noticed it, just before she had kissed him. He remembered the way her lips had felt, the way he had responded then, and he felt himself begin to grow and harden again now. He tried to tell himself it was wrong to want her. She was the daughter of his mentor, his father’s chief commander. And yet how could it be wrong? Just because she was who she was? Because she was young? But did her age really matter? She was a woman, a beautiful, desirable woman, and he was a man, and he wanted to kiss her so badly he nearly pulled her down and did just that. 

Dulinneth straightened and looked at him suddenly, and Legolas felt a moment of panic. Had he made a noise, given himself away? He was relieved when she moved from his side again, yet he wanted to call her back too, have her sit with him for a while. He thought he had spoken aloud when she returned, but she made no sign that he had. She leaned close again and smoothed a strand of hair back from his forehead, gently tucking it behind an ear. 

“I hope you come back to us soon. We’re all so worried about you.”

It was the tremor in her voice that made him give up his pretence. He opened his eyes as she withdrew her hand and turned away. His hand caught hers and held it. She immediately faced him again, a cry of joy upon her lips, and. . . Were those tears in her eyes?

“You’re awake! How do you feel? Oh, but you must be thirsty.” Dulinneth reached for the pitcher of water near the bed and poured him a goblet from it. “Here, let me help you. . .”

Legolas offered no protest as she leaned close and slipped her arm beneath his shoulders. With her help he leveraged himself up as much as possible. When she brought the cup close he covered her hand with his and slowly drank. 

“Better?” she asked. Her voice shook slightly, as did her hand beneath his. 

He pushed the cup away and gazed up at her. “Thank you. How long. . .”

“Four days,” Dulinneth she told as she re-fluffed the pillows and eased him back onto them. “I’m—I’m so glad you’re back. I’ll go get Master Haerelon. And your parents will want to know. They’ve been here as much as they can.”

“Wait,” he said. “My men?”

“They’re all well,” she answered. “Just rest now. I’ll be back.”

He blinked his eyes and leaned back against the pillow. Her scent still lingered close about him, and he inhaled deeply. He wished she would just come back, stay with him a while longer instead of getting the healer, but she returned quickly with Master Haerelon.

“Ah, Your Highness,” he greeted Legolas now, “Dulinneth told me you’re awake. Let’s see how you’re doing.” 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

He was already awake when Dulinneth pushed open the door and peeked inside before walking all the way into the room. Two strands or her hair were pulled back from her face but most of it hung loosely, becomingly framing her figure. The dress she wore was pale green, different from the dark blue she had been wearing before, so Legolas assumed it must be a different day. Again he felt that warm pull, like a thread from her to him and Legolas smiled. His heart sped up even more as she drew near. “Hello, Dulinneth.”

“Hello, Your Highness. How are you feeling?” she asked. She poured another goblet full of water and helped him sit up again to drink. 

“I’ve felt better,” he answered honestly, after he had let the cool water slide down his throat. He turned his head a little to look at her. 

She felt his gaze on her and her cheeks grew warm at the scrutiny. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be awake again or not. You must be hungry. I’ll get you something,” she offered, hoping that in the meantime she could collect herself. 

“No, just more water,” he said, closing his hand over hers when she made to set the cup aside. He did not want her to leave just yet, no matter how hungry he was. It was more than nice sitting propped up against her. It felt like where he was meant to be. At her side. 

Dulinneth brought the cup to his lips again. In a way this was more intimate than bathing him had been. Heat stole up her neck again as her dream flitted through her mind again. Her hands began to tremble, and she tightened her grip on the cup, lest she drop it. “More, Your Highness?” she asked, to cover her ever increasing awareness of him, of the heat of his skin where she held him, but even to her own ears her tongue sounded thick, the words strained. 

“Legolas,” he said firmly, disliking this formality between them. “You promised to call me that, remember?” 

“I thought that was only for the dance.”

“You’ve been taking care of me. No doubt you’ve seen me at my worst. Call me by my name. Please.”

“Legolas,” she repeated shakily, trying not to think about how much of him she had seen. And “worst?” Ai, there was nothing she could think of that fit that description. “Are—Are you sure you don’t feel like eating?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” he said, at the same time his stomach rumbled.

Dulinneth laughed softly, torn between relief at an excuse to get away and compose herself and disappointment that she must go at all, even for a short time. “I’ll see what they have in the kitchen for you.” She set the cup aside and eased him back onto the bed, tucking the blankets around him. “I’ll be right back.” 

True to her word, she returned quickly, a tray laden with a covered bowl, napkin, and spoon in her hands. She placed it on the table near his bed and helped Legolas to sit, propping pillows behind him to make him more comfortable. 

“Venison stew,” she said. She unfolded the napkin and began to spread it over his chest and drew a chair and settled herself in it before removing the lid from the dish. “It smells good, doesn’t it?”

She dipped the spoon into the stew and held it close to his lips. To her relief he dutifully opened his mouth and let her slip the cooling broth inside. When he had swallowed that she fed him another spoonful.

“This seems so strange to me,” she said to break the silence. “I never expected somehow that I would be nursing you back to health.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve been hurt,” Legolas said. “Though it has been some years. You were still a babe the last time I was injured.”

“Oh. I never knew that.” Her voice shook a little and she cleared her throat.

“We live in a dangerous world. I doubt it will be the last time I’m in here,” he said, before taking another bite.

A little of the broth dribbled down his chin when she withdrew the spoon from his mouth. “I’m sorry. Let me get that.” 

“It’s all right,” Legolas told her. “It’s just a little. . .”

His voice trailed away as she leaned close and wiped the soup off with a corner of the napkin. Their eyes met, lingered together, before his moved to her lips. Dulinneth’s breath caught and the cloth slipped from suddenly nerveless fingers, her gaze mirroring his, dropping to his own firmly-molded lips. She raised them again to once more find his eyes on hers; they were darker now, his pupils dilated slightly. Her heart skipped a beat, and then another. His lips were so close, and she wanted to kiss him so much. . . 

Dulinneth drew back reluctantly. She had already behaved unprofessionally enough when it came to caring for him. Kissing him here, now, would not do. “I’m sorry,” she said, forcing a laugh to cover her desire and her nervousness. “You’d think I’d never fed anyone before. I’m usually only this clumsy when I’m trying to cook.” She clamped her lips together, realizing she was babbling, and stirred the soup vigorously and offered him another spoon full. 

Legolas watched her as she fussed about with the bowl and spoon. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” she said, blushing again. “It’s not important.” Dulinneth fed him the last bit of stew, removed the napkin from beneath his chin and started to wipe his face. 

“I can do that,” Legolas said, catching her arm in a gentle grip. He released her and then passed the cloth over his lips and chin before setting it next to the bowl.

“Oh. Of course,” she murmured, dropping her gaze. She rose and began gathering everything onto the tray. “Is there anything else you need?” 

“No, thank you. But, do you have to go?”

The question was softly voiced, and she looked back at him. “I don’t want to over-tire you.”

“You’re not. I like your company. Unless you have other things to do.”

“I—Not really,” she replied, tongue darting out to moisten her lips. Dulinneth sat back down and licked her lips. 

“Thank you.” He studied her for a moment as she fidgeted with her skirts. Did he make her nervous? The idea made him frown and he searched for something to say that might put her at ease. “How is your training coming along?”

“Oh, well. . . I know a great deal about herbs, and I can make many salves and poultices. And I am good at sewing wounds, small ones. But you know all that already.” He nodded once, smiling, and Dulinneth glanced down again to hide her blush. Of course he knew all that. Ai, he would think her a dolt. “I’ve recently begun learning to heal broken limbs. I don’t know when I’ll be fully qualified as a healer. It all depends on what Master Haerelon says.” 

“I suppose it does take longer to learn to heal than it does to learn to fight,” Legolas remarked. 

“I could never do what you do,” she said quietly. “I am not brave like you.”

“Brave,” he echoed, shaking his head slightly. “Courage comes from need. I must defend our home, keep our people safe.”

“Even at risk to yourself,” Dulinneth said softly. 

“Even for such a price,” he agreed. 

Dulinneth searched his face. “Ada has said how you saved that young warrior.”

“It was nothing,” he said, shrugging. He glanced away, his neck growing warm. 

“Nothing? Everyone said that was the biggest spider they had ever seen.” Her voice had risen and she lowered her eyes to her hands. They had begun to shake and she clenched them tightly in her lap. “He could have been killed. And so could you.” 

He let his fingertips trace the weave on the linen bed sheet while he shook his head. “Any one of my men would have done the same. Your father would have.”

“But they didn’t. You did.”

“I was the closest to him. I did what I had to do,” Legolas replied. 

She was about to tell him what she thought of his selfless act and how frightened she had been for him, but she thought better of it. It was not her place, and anyway, was that not one of the things she admired about him, his bravery? 

Fortunately, Legolas steered the conversation away from that, and soon he was telling her of Lake Town, and of the Humans who lived there. From his stories they sounded a strange lot. She wondered in passing what it would be like to meet one of them.

They talked for a long while, but at last Dulinneth reluctantly rose. “I should be going. Do you need anything before I leave?” she asked, after she had helped him lie back down again and had re-covered him.

“No, you’ve done plenty,” he answered, smiling slightly. “Thank you for keeping me company.” 

“It was my pleasure” she said softly. “Good-bye. . . Legolas.”

Legolas settled back onto the pillows as Dulinneth walked away. The sway of her hips was mesmerizing, just as everything about her was. Whoever won her affections would be a lucky man indeed. At the door she turned, but her smile began to fade, and he realized he was scowling. He forced himself to return her smile. It was not her fault the idea of another man holding her, loving her, made him want to hit something. 

“Is everything all right?” she asked, concern in her voice.

“Yes,” he replied. “I just didn’t realize how tired I am.”

“Oh. All right, then,” she said. “I’ll come back to check on you later.”

With that, she slipped out the door and Legolas stared after her for several moments. She would come back, and that knowledge filled him with warmth enough to temper the sense of loss he felt with her absence. Strange that he should miss Dulinneth’s presence so keenly whenever she was not close. Yet he did, even though she had not been gone for long. Why this sudden need for her to be near? Of course he liked her, he always had. But he had wanted her from the moment he had awakened, and that was something he had never felt before, such keen longing for another. Such need.

Having her near made him feel better, made him feel alive in a way he had never felt before. No, he took that back. He had always felt that around her, that joyful hum of his soul that he had never been able to explain. It was more accurate to say he had never felt it around anyone else, and he had certainly been around more than a few females in his life. 

He had been promiscuous in his youth, a fact he was not proud of, and afterwards he had settled into a series of short-lived affairs. None of the women he had been with had held his interest for more than a few cycles of Ithil at the most. And the last few decades he had only rarely sought anyone out, for such encounters had begun to leave him feeling empty and cold inside. 

Dulinneth was different. He had known her all her life, and he had always liked her, had always enjoyed being near her. She had been a precocious though sometimes mischievous child, a charming adolescent, and now. . . Now she was grown up and she had only become kinder, more gracious. More beautiful in every way. And she would be passionate when it came to bed play; he could sense it, had seen the evidence of her fire. Legolas doubted it would take much to coax it to the fore should anyone try.

And he wanted to be the one to do it. He wanted all of her, her kindness, her passion. Her love. His heart skipped a beat. Love? Was that what he felt? Was that why he had been drawn to her even when she was younger? Why he had never minded her tagging along after him? Had he been waiting for her to grow up? Because he had always loved her, in some form or another? The answer was simple and startlingly clear: Yes, he did. 

He was in love with her.

Legolas started to get up, to follow her, but he became aware of two things as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed: he was naked, and he was still weak. He fell back on the mattress, his bare calves hanging over the edge, and vented his frustration with a heartfelt, “Valar!” 

He was still lying there when his parents came into the room. His mother clucked in disapproval as she hurried to help him right himself on the bed. He started to bat her hands away, to tell her he did not need anyone’s help, but his father had his “Don’t upset your mother” look on his face, so Legolas let her fuss and tuck the sheet and blanket back around him as she had when he had been small.

“What in Arda were you trying to do?” she asked, when she had finished.

“Nothing,” he answered. “No, not ‘nothing.’ I don’t know how she feels and I. . .” His voice trailed off as he realized he was making no sense at all. “Ada, Nana, I need some advice.”


	9. And Love is Fire*

Legolas lay there after his parents had left, thinking of their reactions to what he had revealed. Neither of them had seemed particularly surprised, especially his mother. A small frown formed at that. Was he the only one in his family who had been unaware of how he felt about Dulinneth? Knowing his sister, the answer was probably yes. 

Not that it mattered. He cared not what others thought at the moment, or if he was the last person in Mirkwood who knew he loved her. That is, aside from Dulinneth herself. How would she react when he told her? What would she say? 

Could she love him back?

There was only one way to find out. He would just have to tell her, as he had been going to do earlier. Only now the prospect of offering his heart seemed daunting. Not that he was afraid, exactly, of doing it. He was a warrior after all. But what if she did not love him, what then? Could he live with that? If only he had some inkling of how she felt. He knew she liked him, liked his company, but that only meant she found him pleasant to be near, not that she loved him. His brow furrowed and his lips tightened into a scowl. Perhaps she thought of him only as a friend, or worse, an older brother. Ai, that would not do at all. 

One thing was certain, he would not find out just lying here. He would go to her, drag himself to her if he had to, but one way or the other, he had to know, tonight. He drew himself upright on the bed, grasping the nearest post and pushing away the rush of light-headedness that threatened to topple him over again. After a moment the dizziness passed and he nodded once, determinedly. There. Not so bad. 

Now if he could only find something to wear. He glanced around the room. Surely his clothing from the hunt would have been washed and left ready for him but he did not see it. And he did not have time to search for it now. His eyes fell on the bed sheet and he grabbed it up, draped it around his waist and tied it firmly. It would have to do. 

He walked unsteadily to the door, one hand grazing along the wall for support. Once there he opened it with as much caution as when he had snuck out of his room when he had been a youngster, only now there was no Thranduil or Faeldis to stop him and put him back to bed. 

Where was Dulinneth, he wondered. Had she already gone home for the night? He looked up and down the corridor, trying to decide where to look first. She could be with another patient, he decided, and turned toward the rooms to his right. Quick inspections of them had him frowning. She was not in any of them. Legolas turned to the left, ignoring the north corridor, which he knew led to Master Haerelon’s private chambers. Best not go disturbing him.

That left the hallway that led to the main chamber, and he moved toward it a little more quickly now, checking the examination rooms along the way, just in case. Dulinneth’s voice stopped him as he drew near the larger room.

“Thank you for helping me re-label these bottles, Candor.”

Legolas stopped, his breath catching, and listened. 

“It’s my pleasure, Dulinneth, you know that.” 

“Nonetheless, it’s much appreciated,” Legolas heard her say. “It will make my job easier tomorrow. I don’t know what I can do to repay you.”

“A kiss would do.”

Legolas heard a soft laugh, and the image of Dulinneth dancing with the younger warrior at his sister’s wedding celebration flashed through his mind. He remembered too the way they had been sitting close together in this very building, flirting. Legolas moved forward, hands clenched into fists, blood roaring hot in his veins and pounding in his ears. He no longer cared if he was caught or not.

He could see into the room now. Candor held Dulinneth’s hands in his own, his brown head bent toward hers. She did not look annoyed at his manner with her, and Legolas felt a knife twist sharp and deep in his gut. Perhaps she liked it. Perhaps she liked Candor. 

“All right, if not a kiss, would you consider a courtship?” the other man asked her.

“You’re not jesting, are you?” she replied after a moment. 

“No, I’m not. You must know I care for you. Will you marry me, Dulinneth?”

Another wave of jealousy rushed through Legolas and he stepped into the room, scowling fiercely, his body tense, vibrating with the primal urge to do battle.

“I. . . Legolas!” Dulinneth tore her hands from Candor’s grasp and gaped at Legolas, who was standing there in nothing but a sheet. Her eyes flew from his bare chest to his livid face, and her heart began to thud frantically.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Legolas said, his voice clipped, cold, belying the seething fury roiling through his being. His eyes riveted on Dulinneth’s blushing face and he grew all the more angry.

“I—I had better go,” Candor announced, looking from one to the other, but neither seemed to notice him now.

“Yes, you’d better,” Legolas growled, not bothering to glance his way. “And close the door behind you.”

Dulinneth watched Candor leave and then turned her attention back to Legolas. He was glaring at her and she swallowed nervously. “What—what are you doing?” she asked as he stepped closer to her. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.” 

“And you shouldn’t marry Candor,” Legolas told her, anger and jealousy thick in his throat. “How could you even consider him?” 

Dulinneth blinked at him. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Are you going to marry him?” 

Her voice rose to match his. “You were eavesdropping?” 

Legolas took a step toward her, his hard gaze still pinned to her face. “What will you answer?” he asked, ignoring her question.

Dulinneth’s chin came up and she glowered right back at him. Who did he think he was? And what gave him the right? He had shown no interest in her, had never indicated he might want to court her and now he was behaving like a. . . like an ass. “What business is it of yours? What does it matter to you to whom I marry?” 

“Tell me, Dulinneth.” 

There was an edge to his voice she had never heard before, and a thrill ran through her, a strange combination of panic and excitement. She shook her head, but he advanced on her again, eyes dark and jaw set. Dulinneth blanched and retreated backwards. He looked threatening and powerful and furious, and even though she knew deep down he would never hurt her she was still frightened. The wall came up suddenly against her back and she stopped, looking to the left and right, but before she could move away from it, Legolas’ hands came up, pressing on the wooden surface on either side of her head so she could not find escape. She was trapped.

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” she said defiantly. 

“Are you going to marry Candor?” he repeated. A vein thrummed at his temple and his eyes searched her face. 

She shook her head again and refused to answer. Indeed, she was not certain she could anyway. Her throat had gone dry. Never, never, had he been angry with her.

“What. Will. You. Answer?” 

“How can you be such a great archer when you’re so blind?” she burst out, her own anger over-riding all sense of decorum, all fear. “How could I agree to marry someone when he’s not. . .”

“Not what?” Legolas asked, his voice harsh, when she stopped speaking abruptly and looked down. Then he drew a deep breath, berating himself for his behavior toward her. He had not meant to scare her, but ai, he was scared himself, scared of losing her before he even had a chance. “Dulinneth, he’s not what?” he prompted softly. 

“You,” she whispered. “He’s not you.”

A hand raised her chin and she found herself caught in Legolas’ warm gaze as he searched her own. “Thank the Valar,” he murmured, his hands moving to cup her face.

He bent his head and his lips captured hers, a little more roughly than he had intended, but he was still shaken by the thought of her possibly being with another. Quickly he softened the kiss out of worry that he might frighten her again. Her hands came up to rest on his shoulders, and his heart sped up even more, all his senses jolting eagerly, clamoring for more closeness with her. He brushed his mouth over hers, once, twice more, still just lips, savoring their taste and texture. Of course he had known it would be like this, from the time she had kissed him in the stable, but it was still headier than anything he had ever experienced. Like sweet fire. He wanted more. He broke the kiss long enough to gently command, “Open your lips for me, sweetheart.”

She parted them immediately and gasped when she felt his tongue slip inside her mouth. It teasingly stroked hers, sending every already heightened nerve ending into tremors of pleasure and need. Instinctively, she caressed it back, twining her tongue with his, and to her delight Legolas moaned, and the hands that were gently cupping her face trembled.

“I love you, Dulinneth,” he murmured, drawing back to look at her. To his dismay a tear slid from her right eye and trickled toward her cheekbone. He wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. “Please don’t cry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not,” she answered. “I just never thought—I hoped, but I never thought you might—I love you, too, Legolas. So much.”

All of a sudden he leaned heavily toward her, bracing himself more on the wall, and Dulinneth realized with some alarm that he had probably over-exerted himself. “I’d better take you back to bed,” she murmured, then blushed at the implication. “You’re still recovering.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Legolas agreed reluctantly. 

They walked hand in hand back to his room and Legolas sank down gratefully on the bed. Dulinneth helped him get comfortable on the pillows and rearranged the covers over him. She was about to leave when he spoke again. 

“Will you stay with me? Not like lovers, just. . . stay with me for a while.” 

“All right.”

Heart thumping, she took off her shoes then and carefully slipped onto the bed next to him, lying above the blanket. He had maneuvered onto his side and now watched her as she settled herself next to him. She rolled to face him, uncertain how close to move, her face pink once again. 

“You’re beautiful when you blush,” Legolas whispered. His fingers reached out, caught a few strands of her hair and let it glide through them. “More beautiful, I should say.”

“Nay, ‘tis you who are beautiful,” she replied, delicate fingers smoothing over his shoulder. Her eyes fell on his recent wound. “I was so afraid for you, Legolas. I didn’t know what I’d do if you died.”

“I’m sorry. You were here with me, weren’t you? I felt you, holding my hand . . Thought it was a dream,” he said quietly. “It’s not easy being a warrior’s wife.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

He caught her hand and drew it to his lips, kissing each digit tenderly before turning it over to kiss the palm. “I know it’s sudden, but I want to court you,” Legolas said. “I want to bind my soul to yours. Will you marry me, Dulinneth? You did promise, after all, to wed me and mend my shirts when you grew up, did you not?”

“Oh! You remember that?” she asked, backing slightly away and giving him her most indignant look. She knew it had failed utterly when his smile broadened.

“Aye, I remember. And you’re a woman of your word, aren’t you?” He suddenly felt uncertain again, as if he were assuming too much, too soon. 

She scooted back closer to him, too happy at his declaration to be upset that he had brought up her innocent proposal from all those years before. After all, he had finally accepted it. “Yes. I do keep my word,” she replied, her voice catching. “And I will marry you.”

Legolas pulled her close for another kiss, and it was a long time before she could speak again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two days later Dulinneth was cleaning and sorting a medicine cabinet in the main healing room. Warmth spiraled up her spine and scattered out through her body, and she turned, a smile ready on her lips, as Legolas, looking as if he had not spent nearly a week recovering from a spider bite, moved into the room from where he had been standing in the doorway. He was dressed almost as if he might be going to the range for target practice, but though he wore his quiver and carried his bow, his hair was down, he wore no jerkin over his shirt, and in one hand he held a basket from which enticing smells emanated.

“ ‘Tis a fine day for a picnic,” he said, standing before her now. He bent his head to kiss her softly. “Can you get away?”

“I don’t know. . .”

“Go on, child,” Master Haerelon told her, beaming as he looked over at them. “There’s little to do here and I can handle any emergencies.”

Dulinneth set her cloth aside and untied her apron, hanging it on a peg on the wall. She smoothed her hair with nervous fingers. It was the first time they would be alone together since he had proposed. 

“I’m ready.”

She walked with Legolas outside to find two horses waiting for them, Legolas’ stallion, Daeroch, and a glossy brown mare she had not seen before. 

“This is Baidroch,” Legolas said as he helped her up onto the mare’s back. He nodded toward his own steed. “She’s a good horse, just like her brother. And she’s yours.”

Dulinneth looked down at him in surprise. “Mine? ‘Tis too much, surely?”

“No, not too much,” Legolas answered. “We’re going to be married, and a princess should have a good mount of her own.”

“Oh, I did not think of that,” she admitted. Of course marrying Legolas would mean she was more than his wife. She would be his princess as well. The mare was not merely an extravagant gift, but a symbol of her new stature. Rejecting the horse was as good as rejecting him and all he was, and that Dulinneth could never do. She patted the side of the horse’s neck and smiled at her betrothed. “And I did not mean to sound ungrateful. She’s beautiful. Thank you.”

He returned her smile with a warm one of his own. “You’re welcome, melethen.” 

They rode through the forest, leaving the path quickly and heading north of it. A little further on a small glade opened up before them, the floor covered with flowers, while around it the trees seemed to stand guard. It was very private, a perfect place for a couple to spend an afternoon. 

“This place is lovely.” 

“My family comes here sometimes,” Legolas told her. He leapt from his horse and moved to help her down from Baidroch’s back, his hands lingering unnecessarily long at Dulinneth’s waist. “I’ve never brought anyone here, but I thought you might like it.” 

A happy thrill shot through her and she smiled up at him. “It wouldn’t matter if you had.”

“Perhaps not, but I wanted you to know that.” One hand moved up to graze her cheek, then he bent his head, claiming her lips tenderly. 

Dulinneth twined her hands behind his head and sifted her fingers through his hair. All too soon he drew away, and Dulinneth stifled her disappointment. He was holding back, she could sense it. Was he still feeling the effects of the spider’s venom? Or did he think she might be frightened by his passion because she was a maiden? 

He picked up the basket and withdrew a blanket from the pack he had draped over Daeroch’s back, took her hand, and led her into the center of the clearing. Indicating that she should sit, he put his weapons to the side and then began setting out freshly baked bread, a bright orange wedge of cheese, several apples, a leather flask, and two pewter goblets and plates. “I didn’t know how hungry you might be, so. . .”

“It’s perfect,” Dulinneth said, moving to help, but he waved her back with a smile and she watched as Legolas, warrior and prince, waited on her. She had not expected that, but then again, she had never been courted before. After another moment he sat down, long legs stretching out on the grass near hers. 

“I spoke with your father,” he said, between bites of bread.

She looked up and held her breath. “And?” she asked softly. 

“He wants us to wait a year to wed because of your age,” he told her. “And I think it’s a good idea too.”

Dulinneth was about to protest, but Legolas spoke again.

“I know you’re certain, and so am I, but you deserve a proper courtship.” He caught one of her hands and raised it to his lips. “I’ve waited this long for you, Dulinneth. I can wait a little longer.”

A lump formed in her throat and she smiled in reply, for she could not speak. 

When they had eaten their fill, Legolas packed away the remaining food, then withdrew a wrapped package from the basket and held it out to her. He cleared his throat as he knelt on the blanket near her. “I started carving this a few weeks ago. Perhaps some part of me knew, even then, how I felt about you.”

Dulinneth accepted this second offering with trembling hands and slowly drew cloth away from it, her breath catching as she beheld the carving of a nightingale. The tiny bird held onto a branch, its beak opened as in song. It was finely detailed, right down to the dainty feathers. He must have put a great deal of work into it; she could not have asked for a finer betrothal gift. The horse was something necessary, in spite of it being a present. But this, something he had spent time on, had lovingly wrought with his own hands, this was special. Slowly she ran a finger over a painstakingly carved wing. “Oh, Legolas, it’s lovely,” she whispered. “Thank you.” 

She re-wrapped it and set it carefully back in the basket to keep it safe, and turned to him, her lips seeking his. It was only a kiss to thank him, to show how happy she was, but the moment their mouths met she wanted more. She wanted those headier kisses they had shared in the House of Healing. Recalling those now, she darted her tongue out to touch his lips, as he had done with her. His own opened on a gasp, his tongue finding hers, but letting her do as she wished. She moved to her knees, her hands resting on his shoulders as she eagerly explored his mouth. Ai, he tasted wonderful! 

His hands cupped her face before sliding back to release the clip that held her hair. He caught bunches of it in his fists, letting it slide through his long fingers. Prickles of heat danced across her scalp from the light touch and she sighed with pleasure, wishing the delightful feeling would go on and on, for it began to spread lower. And then Legolas took full control of the kiss, his mouth gliding over hers, his tongue sweeping past her lips to twine seductively with hers. Dulinneth moaned, her fingers digging into the muscles beneath his shirt. It felt so good to kiss him, be kissed by him.

Legolas’ control began slipping rapidly away. The taste of Dulinneth, the feel of her lips moving with his, and her scent, ai, her sweet scent, had set his blood aflame. He shifted even closer to her and pulled her tight against him. Her breasts pressed against his ribcage, and through his tunic he could feel the soft swell of them, her taut nipples rubbing enticingly against his chest. He was already stiffening behind the lacings of his breeches and now he grew harder still at the contact. He wanted her, sensed her own growing desire. Drawing his mouth away from hers, he began to nibble his way down her throat. “Dúlind nin,” he murmured shakily.

Dulinneth shivered at the sound of his voice. She had never heard him speak in such a husky timbre before and it only added to the sensations flowing through her body. Her hands moved restlessly from his shoulders to his hair and back again. “Legolas. . .”

He felt the erratic thumping of her heart, heard the tremor in her voice. He stopped abruptly and raised his head, pushing slightly away from her. Legolas closed his eyes a moment as he fought for control. Surely he was rushing things. Rushing her.

“Why—why did you stop?” she asked.

“This is not—I want to make love to you. So much,” he panted, trying to keep his blinding need at bay. “But I didn’t intend to begin our courtship like this.”

Dulinneth’s heart tripped at his words and a low fire began to burn in her blood. She wanted to make love too, to share her body with his, but she sensed he wanted to hold off out of regard for her youth and innocence. She rose slowly and toed off her slippers, love and desire making her bolder than she might have otherwise been. She reached behind her and began to undo the fastenings of her gown. .“You are a good and honorable man, Legolas Thranduilion,” she said, pulling the gown off her shoulders, letting it fall past her waist, her hips. It fell around her feet and she stepped out of it, her chest heaving, heart hammering. “But right now I don’t want you to be.” 

To say he was surprised was an understatement. And to say he was more aroused than he had ever been was equally insufficient. Legolas could not move, could not take his eyes off her, for she was beautiful, his Nightingale. She was slender, he had known she was, but she was not without curves. Her breasts were just ripe enough for his hands, with rosy nipples that tightened even more as he stared, and her hips swept gently outward from a small waist. He lifted his eyes to hers and released a long breath. He had meant to wait but in the face of such temptation his need over-ruled his good intentions. 

He moved, took her hand, and drew her down toward him, and kissed her lightly. Now it was his turn to undress and he removed his boots, rising to his feet to do just that. He had done this for countless women, but it was a different thing entirely, he discovered, disrobing for the woman he loved. His fingers refused to cooperate, fumbling with the clasps of his tunic and tangling in the lacings of his trousers, but at last he stood nude before her, and Dulinneth’s eyes moved with admiration over his form, widening as she beheld his arousal, but she did not look away from him. 

Legolas joined her again on the blanket and eased her down so that they lay on their sides, facing each other. His mouth moved over hers with barely tempered passion now, a hunger like he had never known before driving him. She kissed him back with just as much passion, not seeming to be afraid at all, and her fearlessness only fed his appetite for more of her. His hands roamed over the warm skin of her back, while his lips trailed from her mouth to her throat, back up to an ear.

“We can stop, anytime you want,” he said, his voice thick with need as his mouth moved along a delicate ear and his hands roamed her back.

She was hot, burning with fire. She thought she had known desire before but it had been only a taste. This was more, so much more. Every feeling seemed to feed on the last until her body was one unending mass of need. The touch of his hands and the heat of his lips on her bare skin only made her want them everywhere on her. “I don’t want to stop,” she answered. 

Legolas groaned at her words and maneuvered her onto her back, lips still moving, but lower now, at her throat again. Dulinneth gasped, thinking nothing could feel as good as this, but then Legolas shifted, moved a hand to her left breast, cupping and caressing it gently. Pleasure shot through her, sending an ache to lodge between her thighs. She had barely recovered from that when callused fingertips brushed over the nipple.

“Ai,” she whispered as another bolt of longing followed.

He shifted his weight, balancing above her, and bent his head. Before she could wonder what he meant to do his tongue darted out to trace a circle around a hardened nipple. She gasped again and he repeated the teasing motion before closing his mouth over the tight bud and drawing on it. Dulinneth arched her back toward him, her hands coming up to clutch at his head.

Legolas lapped at the rosy nipple, pleased and even more aroused by Dulinneth’s response. He had not been wrong about her fire, not at all, and he was eager to be consumed by it. She squirmed on the blanket as he suckled, her legs parting for him, and he shifted to rest between them. His hand found her other breast and began to fondle it too. And then he moved to give it the same attention he had given the first.

“More, please,” she whimpered, not knowing how to ask for what she wanted, not knowing exactly what it was, only that she wanted. Her legs moved restlessly and her hips rose off the blanket. 

He slowly eased a hand down her abdomen and then further below, to the juncture of her thighs. Dulinneth gasped softly, but it was Legolas who trembled now. The hungry part of him reared up again, wanted to bury himself inside her, to claim her. He managed to rein it in with another long breath and moved lower, shaky hands brushing her thighs.

The first long lick of his tongue startled Dulinneth and she cried out in surprise, her torso rising off the blanket. She propped herself on an elbow and stared as Legolas repeated the caress. He paused and looked up at her, a question in his eyes. 

“Saes. Avo. . . dharo,” she breathed, eagerly moving her legs further apart for him. Whatever he was doing she liked it. She liked it very much.

Legolas smiled wickedly and lowered his head again, and Dulinneth could not think after that, she could only feel. Her world narrowed to the warm, wet tongue lapping at her flesh and to the fire slowly building up within her. There was something more, she knew it, could feel it there, just out of reach, and just when she was on the verge of begging him to show her, his lips closed over her, drawing on her as he had her nipples. 

“Oh! Oh. . .” The coil of heat unwound, flaring out, and she tensed, and the pleasure was too much, and she could only let go and give herself over to wave upon wave of ecstasy. 

Dulinneth lay still afterwards, panting, feeling replete, but she grew aware of a deeper ache, a need for more closeness with him. She did not have long to wait for Legolas moved above her again. Hardness pressed at her slickened opening, and then he stopped. His eyes met hers, a darker blue than she had ever seen them. In them she read love and hunger and, to her confusion, regret. Just as she was trying to think why, he pushed inside her. She arched her back, gasping at the sudden pain. Ai, she felt as if she had been split in two. Legolas held his lower body still, but bent his arms, leaned down, and covered her mouth with his. There was a taste that was not there before, on his lips, his tongue, and she realized it was her own, and a thrill raced through her at the intimacy of it. 

He remained poised there, motionless save for his lips tenderly caressing hers. One hand eased from her hips where he had gripped them and slid upward to a breast, fingertips softly brushing the nipple until it pearled hard for him once more. His other hand soothed its way over her hip and her outer thigh, and Dulinneth shivered, loving the feel of his callused fingers on her skin.

Legolas raised his head to look at her. His face was flushed, tense, as if he were in pain as well. Indeed his whole body was so still and taut she began to think she had hurt him in some way. Every instinct within her cried to take it away from him, but she did not know how. 

And then slowly Dulinneth became aware of him, pleasantly hard and thick inside her, not the discomfort that had been before, and with it that feeling of wanting more again rose to the surface. She moved a leg experimentally, shifting her lower body beneath him. Legolas sucked in a breath of air and seemed to hold himself even more rigid. Dulinneth reached up and caressed his brow and cheekbone before brushing a strand of his golden hair away from his face. She felt a shudder run through him, and she smiled and rubbed the inside of her thigh against him once more. His answering smile was as slow and heart-stopping as the gentle withdrawal and inward stroke that followed. And the next.

Her hands slipped to his shoulders and then found their way to his back. She could feel the muscles flexing and bunching there as he moved and marveled again at his strength. But she could not think of anything again for long as Legolas continued his measured thrusts into her. The need to feel that same pleasure he had given her, the need to return it to him, began to build inside her again. Instinctively she raised her legs more, and Legolas moaned and shuddered again, and Dulinneth gasped as his inward movements became longer. Deeper. 

By increments he quickened his pace, always watching her, and Dulinneth gazed back at him, love in her eyes. Whatever he read in them, his strokes became even harder and before she was prepared for it she felt that same tense coil in her belly, and then it exploded and swept her away again, shattering her into countless pieces and all of them filled with bliss. Her nails scraped his back and she cried out his name as she held on to him. She felt Legolas surge into her and felt his body spasm, and warm wetness spill into her, and she held him, whispering endearments until the shudders ceased and he was motionless above her once again. 

“Dulinneth,” Legolas breathed harshly into her neck. He had never felt so satiated, so at peace after bedding a woman. So this was love-making as it was meant to be. Carefully he eased them both over, so that they lay facing each other again. He held her close, studying her, while his hands possessively roamed over her back, her buttocks. “Are you all right?” he asked at last. 

“Oh, yes,” she answered softly. Nothing she had been told had prepared her for the heady euphoria she had just experienced. She lifted a shaky hand to his face, traced a cheekbone before letting her fingers fall to his lips. “I thought I knew what this was all about, but I didn’t. It’s so much more. Ai, I wish I could explain it better.”

“I thought I knew too,” Legolas said, “but it’s more than I imagined it could be as well. More than I’ve ever experienced. Strange that I feel so content, yet I know I shall never get enough of you.”

“Then can we. . .” She rose up on an elbow. “Can we do it again?” she asked him.

“Are you not sore?” he countered, concern in his eyes and in his voice, but desire was already pooling in his lower belly. “I mean you are—that is, you were. . .”

Dulinneth nodded as he rolled to his back, drawing her down atop him, and with absolute love and trust she whispered, “But I know you’ll make it better.”

 

*From Elizabeth Barrett-Browning’s Sonnets from the Portuguese, number 10, because I always wanted to use that line for a title of something, and it finally fit.

Baidroch—Fair Horse  
Dúlind nin—My nightingale  
Saes. Avo dharo—Please. Don’t stop


	10. Epilogue

“You look beautiful,” Merileth gushed as she pulled a few strands of Dulinneth’s hair back into the delicate mithril hair clip Legolas had gifted her with. She stood back now to admire the effect. “Doesn’t she, Galuves.”

“Very much so,” Dulinneth’s mother agreed, kissing her daughter on the head, lightly, so as not to mess up her hair. “Stand up and let’s see.”

Dulinneth rose and spun slowly around for their inspection. The ivory satin gown her mother had sewn for her flared, shimmering faintly in the candlelight, as she moved. Tiny leaves worked in pale green thread adorned the neckline, the same design she had embroidered for the binding robe that Legolas would be wearing. The underskirt, a gift from Merileth, rustled softly beneath.

“Legolas won’t be able to take his eyes off you,” Merileth told her.

“I hope not,” Dulinneth replied.

Galuves smiled at her daughter. “Come, your father is waiting. And so is your betrothed.”

They stepped from the room and met Belegur in the living area. His green eyes were shining with pride, and he drew her close, enfolding her in a quick, gentle embrace. “Are you ready, dear?” he asked.

“My whole life,” Dulinneth answered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

They were married beneath the large oak that stood in the clearing near the keep, with family and friends looking on. To Legolas, Dulinneth looked more beautiful than ever, her aura glowing brightly in the gathering dusk. As for himself, Legolas could not recall a time when he was both nervous and yet more serene. He was where he belonged, knew this was right and meant to be, but he hoped he would be a good husband to her. He knew she understood what a life with him meant, that their time together would always be measured against his duty to his father and their people, but he hoped to always make her happy. Most of all he hoped to always show her how dear she was to him. 

Now they were dancing together, Legolas holding his wife possessively close. They were not the only couple on the floor but it seemed to him that they were. He did not even really hear the music that the minstrels played from the side lines. It reminded him of the first time he had danced with her, how he had felt her pull then, and been unable to resist it for very long, though not for lack of trying.

“Do you recall our first dance?” he asked Dulinneth now as they moved slowly together.

Her lips quirked up into a smile. “How could I forget? I thought it would be our last. Especially the way you dragged me off the floor afterward. I never understood why you did that.”

“It wasn’t what I wanted to do,” he murmured, chagrined at the way he had behaved that night. 

“What did you want to do?” Dulinneth asked.

Legolas stopped them where they stood. He held her gaze, then his eyes lowered to her lips. “This,” he breathed, just before he bent his head and claimed them. 

Applause erupted around them, and cheers, as he kissed Dulinneth there on the dance floor, but Legolas ignored them all. He was with his Nightingale, and all was right with his world.

The End


End file.
